


Drowning to Breathe

by Angeltiny13



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Blood and Injury, Choi San-centric, Crossover, Dark Ateez/HalaTeez, Dark Magic, Dark Past, Drowning, Dysfunctional Family, Established Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Getting Together, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Pirates, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Witches, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angeltiny13/pseuds/Angeltiny13
Summary: "Everything you run from you end up chasing."San wanted to stop existing. That's why he was in the middle of the ocean. That is, until a group of pirates pull him out and accuse him of being someone he's not. After convincing them of his innocence, he starts his life over as a new member of the Aurora crew and helps them uncover the truth behind the shadows that have been chasing them. However, it may not be a truth any of them are willing to face.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 53
Kudos: 289





	1. Fished from the Sea

San had almost drowned twice in his life. The first time was when he was five—a misjudgment of depth in the pool his father just had built. He was fished out by one of the servants. His father’s only reaction was a brief glance of unreadable emotion.

The second time was today. This time the sharp silver taste of salt filled his mouth, invaded his lungs. The water pressed down on every bit of him. He didn’t thrash, didn’t reach for the surface. The bottom of the boat blocked the burning white sun, granting him privacy. 

Soon, he wouldn’t feel the pressure. Soon, all he’d feel was the sweet relief of cold black, the serenity of nothing. 

Before he slipped into oblivion, the heavy cry of a bomb made the water quiver and he wondered if it was his father celebrating.

***

Water slapped him awake. Before he could question why he was awake, his stomach lurched and jerked with all the saltwater he’d swallowed. San choked until he spewed all the water and what he thought would be his last meal on the wood floor. Everything rocked back and forth, making him gag again but nothing was left to vomit. 

“See? His stomach’s too weak to be one of them,” said a cold voice, muffled by all the water in San’s ears.

The room was black as oil and just as thick with humidity. He tried sitting up, but his arms trembled and a shackle around his right ankle jingled like mocking laughter. His body was too weak, his soaked clothes too heavy. He gave up and lied back down. 

“Hey,” came another voice and then another splash of water thrown on San. “Close those eyes and you won’t be able to open them ever again.”

San almost laughed. _That was the idea_. 

“Sit up.”

San tried again, if only to avoid another water attack. He sat up and fell against a wall on his left. 

The room illuminated, a wave of burnt orange bouncing off the wood paneled walls. Three pairs of eyes regarded him with a mix of disdain and suspicion. The disdain he was familiar with, but he didn’t know these people. What did they think he did? Who did they think he was? 

“Where’s Wooyoung, Black?” demanded the center one with bright crimson hair, voice controlled but serrated.

“Who?”

One gesture from Red signaled the bulky blonde in the corner to go and twist San’s arm. His grip threatened to crack the bone. San yelped from the pain and the fear of how easy it would be, judging from the calm on his torturer’s face. 

“Stop,” one with inky black hair said. He shared a look with Red, crossing his arms.

Red sighed, seemingly losing whatever silent argument they’d just had in that brief exchange. “Look,” he started, walking over and squatting in front of San, “I’m a very patient man—” The crooked smirk he wore begged to differ. The smile dropped. He yanked San by his collar and pressed a knife to his throat.

San didn’t even see from where or when he grabbed the weapon.

“—except when it comes to my crew.” 

San swallowed. Terrified, he tried to catch the eye of the one who quelled Red the first time.

“Eyes on me, Black!” Red tightened his grip on both his collar and the knife.

“Please, I don’t, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” San pleaded. “M— my name is San.” Despite being sure looking his captor in the eye would kill him, he met his deep brown stare. By now, the chill of being submerged in the ocean was nothing but a distant memory. His back was sticky with sweat. His heart had never beat so hard and fast.

The door swung open, slamming against the wall.

“We found him!”

Everyone’s eyes went wide. Red whipped around, never slackening his grip, but ready to unleash hell on whoever interrupted. “What?”

The tall, deep-voiced stranger leaned against the door frame, trying to catch his breath. “Yeo spotted— dived in before we could—” He gestured wildly. 

The man with black hair rushed past him, followed by the bulky blonde.

Red looked back at San, still suspicious, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

San didn’t know how to react but felt that he should stick with what he’d been doing—being scared shitless. 

“And captain,” he started, voice dropping, “all eight retreated.” The tall one met eyes with San, full of equal parts pity and confusion. 

“Then who is this?” Red stood, more than a little pissed. 

The other shrugged.

With one last conflicted look at San, Red said, “We’ll deal with you later,” and took off. Several resounding clicks after the door closed sentenced San to dark solitary confinement.


	2. Newly Baptized

San couldn’t sleep, but that wasn’t anything new. The time slogged along just as lazily as the waves rocking the ship. Even when the room was dimly lit by a gas lamp, it was surprisingly clean. He wasn’t sure if his captors were sailors or, worse, pirates, but neither group had a reputation for their tidiness.

Pirates. The possibility kept his heart in a firm, threatening handshake. His father explicitly hated only two people—his mother and pirates. San used to count himself among those people but growing up taught him what his father actually felt toward him was, in a word, apathy. 

He stretched his legs and arms out in front of him, so they wouldn’t fall asleep. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been locked up, waiting for them to “deal with him later.” Later could be tonight, a week from now, never. He sighed and flexed his fingers, popped his knuckles.

The familiar rise and drop of the lock clicked in the dark. Copper light filled the space as the tall, deep-voiced stranger entered. “Hey,” he said, like they were old friends and San wasn’t chained to the floor. “Captain wants to see you.” He stepped toward San, heavy black boots making the floorboards wince.

San instinctively backed up as much as he could until his back hit the wall. 

“Woah.” He paused, laughing. “I don’t bite.”

“The knife I had to my throat says otherwise,” San croaked out, voice hoarse.

The stranger laughed again. “First of all, that wasn’t me.” He kneeled, set the gas lantern down, and pulled a pair of worse for wear handcuffs from his belt. “Second, the captain greets everybody like that.”

“Strangest greeting I’ve ever seen.”

He shrugged, as if they were talking about something more mundane. “He doesn’t bite either,” he continued, locking San’s wrists in the cuffs and unlocking the shackle around his ankle, “not unless he has to.” 

The amusement on his face and in his tone led San to believe that it was a more frequent occurrence than he let on. 

“Up we go,” he prompted, pulling San by his arm to stand.

San’s instincts told him that he probably shouldn’t let a stranger lead him somewhere unknown, but there was no food or water in his cell. If he believed this stranger, maybe they’d remedy that. His stomach was starting to eat his spine. 

By the light of the lantern, San was led out of the door and to his left to the end of the dark, stuffy hall. They stopped at the closed door. He knocked—one, two, pause, one, two. “Come in,” called the muffled voice of the captain. He opened the door and pushed San in front of him. “Have fun,” he whispered. “The name’s Mingi by the way.” 

With that, the door slammed shut and San was left alone with the captain and the other man with inky black hair again. San looked at the door, unlocked and waiting for him. To what? Heaven knew where they were at this point. Even if he somehow secured one of their rescue boats, where would he go then? He knew the moment he left home, there was no going back. He’d planned on leaving it, his father, everything behind, but then these people fished him from the sea. Would he just jump from the boat and pick up where he left off, finish the job they interrupted? 

He turned back to them, met their watchful eyes, and knew somehow, they knew he wouldn’t run. So, he sat at the chair in front of the captain’s desk. 

The captain leaned back in his chair, crossing his boots on the desk, hands laced over his torso. The chunky rings stacked on his fingers glistened in precious rubies, emeralds, sapphires. A scarlet fur coat with thin navy and white stripes draped over his shoulders. San had never seen a dye so lush and vibrant in both his coat and hair. 

The one with slicked back black hair was dressed more elegantly. He stood like a sentinel, pushing up from the wall behind the captain’s right. He uncrossed his arms, revealing the billowing sleeves of his unlaced peasant top that looked like it was made of a fabric no peasant could afford. A thin silver chain dangled from his left ear, as well as from around his neck. Polished, like he didn’t belong on this ship. 

“We’ll start simple,” the captain said. “Name.”

“Choi San.” San cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

“Hongjoong,” he slapped his chest, “but it’s Captain to you.” He gestured behind him, “Seonghwa, just Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes.

Despite the name exchange, San still didn’t think it was appropriate quite yet to laugh at the pair’s banter. So, he just nodded. 

“Why were you out in the sea, Choi San?”

San blinked, mouth falling open but nothing to fill it. “It...it has nothing to do with you all, I promise.”

Something in his expression must have got his message across, because neither pressed. “Okay, look,” Hongjoong took his boots from the desk, instead resting his elbows and linking his fingers in a pyramid, “I’m not gonna throw you overboard, ‘cause I don’t want to hear you screaming. I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.”

“The rare occasions you do sleep,” Seonghwa interjected.

“You don’t have a problem with it most nights.” Hongjoong threw a suggestive glance over his shoulder, but Seonghwa simply looked to the side as if he’d said nothing at all. “Anyways,” he continued, “I’m not gonna shoot you, ‘cause that’d be a wasted bullet. So, Choi San,” he raised a fiendish brow, “who’s willing to pay for your safe return?”

San’s eyes went wide at the completely serious question. His gaze fell to his flexing fingers at his completely serious lack of an answer. “No one,” he muttered. 

“Come on, somebody’s gotta want a graceful looking swan like you back in the nest.”

“There’s no one.”

Hongjoong sighed. “Well, I can’t have an extra mouth to feed.” He stood, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “We’ll drop you at the next port.” 

“Wait!” San broke in. He swallowed. “Let me stay… on the ship.”

“Like I said, you don’t work you don’t—”

“I can, um, I can…” San had been raised as an heir to an estate, surely he’d have some skill valuable to these people. “I’m a trained swordsman.”

The captain laughed, high and metallic. “You look like you’ve never even held a butter knife let alone a sword.”

Maybe he was right, but San was sure he could get the hang of it based on what he did know. His father never saw the use for such barbaric practices, so he restricted San to training with wood weapons. Even then, what he learned was more for the purpose of performing at diplomatic dinners. “I can navigate.”

“Already got the best navigator on the Seven Seas.”

“I can speak English and mandarin.”

Both Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s brows raised at that. “How long?” the captain asked in English.

“Fifteen years in English, ten in mandarin,” he answered the first half in English, the second in mandarin. 

“You might be worth something yet, Choi San,” Hongjoong said with a grin, looking like the cat that caught the canary.

***

After removing the handcuffs, Seonghwa tossed San one of his old shirts that was more champagne than ivory and a pair of faded black trousers. San changed behind the screen in the corner, admittedly glad to be rid of his stiff, water damaged clothes. Over the rustling, though, he heard the pair whispering. 

“Now?”

“Yes, now. We couldn’t before but now with…”

“I still think there’s another way.”

“Please enlighten me. ‘Cause at this point we’re lucky Wooyoung wasn’t—”

San stepped from behind the screen. 

Even though the pair stopped talking, they continued staring at each other, engaged in another of their telepathic conversations. Seonghwa crossed his arms and huffed, then turned to San. “You must be hungry.” Walking toward the door, he tossed over his shoulder, “I can’t promise it’ll taste good, but it’ll be edible.”

Hongjoong snickered, following Seonghwa. “Maybe.”

San followed them outside the captain’s cabin to the other end of the hall and up the steep wooden stairs that sagged beneath every step. They emerged from the hatch and climbed onto the main deck. The jagged edge of the salty, wet wind slapped San’s face before whipping up his shirt. He yanked it down, wrapping his arms around his middle for some semblance of warmth. After the cool night air, the second thing San noticed was how loud everything was. Not only did the waves knock with heavy fists against the ship’s hull, but high and low shouts and screams filled the dark to overflow. 

They joined the rest of the crew who were engaged in an intense game of rock paper scissors. Right as they reached them, Mingi and someone just as tall as him threw out their hands. Everyone erupted. The tall boy with brown hair kissed his fist, shaking it triumphantly, while Mingi dropped to his knees, staring at his hand in the scissors position. 

“I don’t even know why you keep trying,” said the bulky blonde from his perch on an overturned barrel. 

“But I did dish yesterday,” Mingi whined.

The blonde shrugged. “And you’ll do ‘em tomorrow if you keep testing your luck.”

Hongjoong cleared his throat, interrupting the drama. “This is San. He’s part of the crew now.”

Five pairs of eyes lit up in varying degrees of intrigue.

Not knowing what else to do, San raised a nervous hand in greeting.

In one step, the tall brunette was in front of San, hand thrust toward him. “Yunho.” He smiled, beaming bright despite the dark. “That’s Jongho.” The blonde nodded. “Yeosang and Wooyoung.” The last two sat against a stack of burlap sacks. Yeosang rested his elbows on his raised knees, nursing something from a tin cup, granting San barely an acknowledging glance. Wooyoung offered a lopsided grin, tipping his chin up and trailing his kohl-lined eyes down San’s figure.

 _Subtle_. 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have minded if you were the one that stabbed me,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang elbowed him in the ribs, and without skipping a beat, took another sip, while Wooyoung writhed in pain.

“What the fuck?” he ground out between gritted teeth. “That’s literally where I got stabbed!”

“You’ll be fine,” Seonghwa said, crossing to the boiling pot in the middle of the group, “it wasn’t that deep.” He brought the ladle to his lips, slurped the white, creamy-looking substance. His nose scrunched. Slowly, he replaced the ladle. 

Mingi and Yunho shot pointed fingers at each other.

“I don’t even want to know.” Seonghwa pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think we still have some fish left in the salt barrels.”

Once Seonghwa returned with a few fish and a lucky find of a bushel of potatoes, dinner turned around pretty quick. At the risk of being called out for his awkwardness, San sat next to Yunho, who, for now, was the only one who hadn’t threatened him in any way. Eating gave him something to do while he watched everyone joke and play and banter. 

Despite the captain’s intimidating air from earlier, he simply sat back and listened to the chaos of the others. If it wasn’t for the changing light of the fire between them, San could have sworn he saw Seonghwa’s hand cover Hongjoong’s for a brief moment. 

“You _know_ I’m better shot than you!” Wooyoung sat up, then promptly fell back, wincing.

“Where was that great aim this morning?” Mingi teased. 

This morning? Had so much happened in such short a time? Before he was fished from the sea, San’s life crawled along like a snail over quicksand. These people lived on a different plane, a constant state of whiplash. 

Yunho shoved Mingi. “You might be good with the cannons, but you’re shit with a pistol.”

Mingi shoved back, then wrapped his arms around Yunho, ready to shake him until he took it back.

“We’re setting course for Jubilee in the morning,” Hongjoong stated.

Everyone stopped. Seonghwa’s eyes widened. The wind whipped the flames, twirling the crackling sparks and cinders into the air. 

“The isle?” Mingi asked.

“No, the mountain,” Wooyoung interjected. “Of course the isle.” His sarcastic tone fell flat in the silence.

“What happened to not fighting fire with fire?” Yeosang asked, voice quiet but firm.

“Wooyoung got hurt,” Hongjoong answered, “and for a moment, we thought we lost him. I’m not risking that again.” The hand on his knee clenched as he stared into the fire. “I’m tired of being on the defensive.”

“We all are,” muttered Seonghwa.

“Then why were you so opposed?” Hongjoong snapped.

“Because you were!” Seonghwa slammed his plate on the deck. “Magic got us into this situation. There’s no guarantee it won’t just fuck everything up more.”

“We don’t know what got us into this situation. We don’t know what they are, but I sure as hell know I’m done waiting for them to stop playing and fucking kill one of us.” 

Everyone averted their eyes while the two fought. The air sagged under the weight of the tension.

“I have a friend,” Wooyoung spoke up. “He can probably...help.”

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Hongjoong asked, still wound up.

“You said you didn’t want to resort to magic.”

Hongjoong huffed, rubbed his temples. “Who is it?”

“I knew him back when I was at White Whale naval academy. Before I left, he’d joined the Star Conflagration. I trust him.”

“I don’t think goody-two-shoes fairy dust is gonna get us out of this one, Woo,” Hongjoong said, the fear and exhaustion tinting his voice.

“No, he’s…” Wooyoung paused, humming, “He’s not like Yeosang,” he finished, earning a slap from his left. “He’s more my speed.”

“Worse, if you ask me,” Yeosang added. 

Wooyoung ignored the jab. “We can see what he can do, first, before we try… other things.” 

Everyone shivered, filling in the blank San couldn’t. 

“Okay.” Hongjoong stood. “White Whale, it is.” Without another word, he left the group, heading back toward the hatch. Seonghwa followed not too far behind, worry pinching his brows and melting the anger from earlier. 

San had heard of White Whale. It was honestly impossible not to with its reputation for starting from a small, no name school to the juggernaut it was today. He knew they had started a magic arts division, but it was too early to tell how it was doing or even know who made it in. If Wooyoung and Yeosang had both studied there, how in the world did they end up with this rag tag bunch? San guessed he could be asked the same, so he kept his mouth shut.

Once everyone finished eating, they stacked their bowls in front of a pouting Mingi. San offered an apologetic smile. “Did you want some help?” he asked.

Mingi’s eyes lit up, bright as the full moon.

“I don’t think so,” Yunho said, throwing his arm around San’s shoulders, drawing him close. “He made his bed, now he’s gotta lay in it.” He smiled wide and turned himself and San away to go below deck. 

“I can help,” San tried, “It’s really no problem.”

“He’ll be alright,” Yunho replied, removing his arm from San. “If you say yes to those puppy eyes once, you’ll look up and suddenly be doing all his chores.” His shoulders rose, then he shook his head as if shaking away a memory. “Anyways, you’ll be bunking with Yeosang and Wooyoung.” They stopped at a door on the right. Yunho knocked—the same rhythm Mingi did against the captain’s quarters—but he didn’t wait for them to answer, just threw the door open.

That earned Yunho a shirt to the face.

“I’m changing!” came a scandalized screech. Wooyoung exaggerated a gasp and made a show of covering his exposed chest. When he noticed San behind Yunho, though, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey.”

This close, San noticed the mole beneath Wooyoung’s left eye, the way his silver hair caught the candlelight. San felt the tips of his ears heat up. He decided to study the floorboards, instead of maintain eye contact.

Yunho threw his shirt back at him, then ducked as another came flying at San.

“Quick reflexes,” said Yeosang from his spot by an open trunk, “That’ll come in handy.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Yunho saluted, then pivoted, throwing a “Don’t stay up too late,” before disappearing down the hall. 

“You can take the hammock in the corner,” Yeosang said as he changed into his own night shirt.

San did the same, hyperaware of Wooyoung checking him out as he did. He steeled his nerves. He wasn’t embarrassed, just overwhelmed. He grew up hidden away on his father’s estate, his only friends the maids and butlers. Now, he wasn’t so sure they weren’t just doing their jobs by entertaining his childish whims. For all his twenty years he hadn’t been close to anyone, surely not enough to call anyone friend. Being in such close quarters with these people that had this ease about them and around each other was one language San wasn’t at all familiar with. 

San folded the clothes Seonghwa let him borrow and set them on the floor beneath the hammock. He climbed in, settled beneath the threadbare blanket. His eyes trailed the ceiling until they noticed a lace thin spider web in the corner. He drew the blanket higher, shivered.

Yeosang bent over the candle, ready to blow it out for the night.

“Yeosangie,” Wooyoung cooed.

“What?”

“Don’t you want to kiss my wound to make it better?”

“Keep it up and I’ll rip your stitches out.” He blew out the candle and the room flushed dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Leave kudos and comments to let me know what you think.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter if you want to chat :)
> 
> Twitter: @angeltiny13


	3. Sink Like a Stone

In the limbo between sleep and waking, San registered an itch on his neck. He groaned, lazily reaching up to scratch it away. The itch moved, crawled. San yelped, slapping the spider off of him and nearly falling out of the hammock in the process. He reached out for the edges, body stiff and fully awake. Risking a glance to the side, he sighed with relief that Yeosang and Wooyoung weren’t around to witness his freak out.

After a few inhales and exhales, San got changed and made his way to the main deck. He didn’t quite know where to go, if there was a morning routine of some sort. 

“Hey,” came a loud greeting from his right. Wooyoung sat on the deck by the wheel where Yeosang stood, focused on a thick journal in his hands. 

San walked over to the pair and took a seat after Wooyoung patted the space next to him. 

He offered San half of the bread he was eating. “Hungry?”

“Thank you.” It was easy. San could be easy. He took the bread and nearly broke his teeth biting into the hard crust.

Wooyoung laughed, high and piercing like wind chimes. He leaned over, shoulder against San’s, as he explained, “It’s a little old, so you gotta pick it out from the inside.”

San swallowed, nodded. Somehow, despite the pervasive scent of sea salt, Wooyoung smelled like lemons and limes—fresh, bright. 

Wooyoung went back to his own bread, resting his elbows on his raised knees.

“What are you guys doing?” San asked. 

“I’m trying to figure out where we are,” Yeosang said, without looking up from the journal. He pointed to Wooyoung with his charcoal pencil, “He’s being annoying.”

“I’m helping!”

“No, every time I toss an idea out, you say, ‘You’re the expert.’” Yeosang kneeled to make a mark on a map that had four rocks on each corner to keep it from flying away.

“Well, you _are_ the expert. I’m encouraging!” Wooyoung thumped his chest, genuinely offended.

Yeosang shot him a glare, then turned to San, as if pleading he take Wooyoung away before he tossed him overboard. Yeosang huffed, blowing his wavy brown hair from his forehead. “San, was it?” He almost sounded apologetic, but more than anything obviously stressed by the task before him. “Woo, why don’t you make sure San can defend himself or something.”

Wooyoung straightened. “Yeah, I’ll go do that.” He stood and tossed what was left of his bread to a few seagulls perched on the mast. “Come on.”

San picked a few more bites, before following. They made it a good distance from Yeosang, before Wooyoung stopped abruptly.

Wooyoung turned, pointed the rifle that had been strapped to his hip at San’s chest. “Ever been held at gunpoint before?”

After the initial heartbeat skip, San finally snapped, “What is it with you people and pointing weapons?” He didn’t mean for his voice to rise the way it did, but he was honestly tired of the shit.

Wooyoung, blinked, surprised at the outburst. He doubled over, howling with laughter. After composing himself, he twirled the gun on his finger before sliding it back in its holster. “He speaks!”

“What do you mean? Of course I—” 

“You were just so quiet,” he managed between left over snickers, “I didn’t think you knew what you were getting into.” Despite his light tone, his gaze carried a serious edge.

“I don’t,” San admitted, “but I…” He balled his hands into fists, then released them, meeting Wooyoung’s skeptical stare head on. “I have nowhere else to go.”

“Just because you have nowhere else to go doesn’t mean you should be here.”

Even though he’d only known him for less than a day, this was the most serious San had seen the mischievous flirt. 

Wooyoung took a step toward San, making San notice the slight height difference between them. He dropped his voice. “Look, I don’t know where you came from, but you clearly still have some things to learn. This is deadly shit we’re dealing with.”

Without thinking, San glanced down at where Wooyoung was wounded.

“I’d die for every single person on this ship because I know they’d die for me. Can I count you as one of those people?”

San knew Wooyoung had no way of knowing just how much he wanted to be counted. He had no way of knowing how desperate San was for a reason to remain. Desperate enough to live that he’d chosen to stay on this ship where death seemed to follow close behind. Would that be enough to risk his life for these people if it came down to it? He had no way of knowing, but he clung to the chance to find out. 

His father would call him a fool. Instincts were for street rats, animals, but so far, logic did nothing but distance San from the rest of the world. He was tired of living that way. Maybe, when he sunk beneath the water, what he really wanted was to drown his weak self. Now, after being raised from the sea, he felt he could leave that person behind. 

Something in Hongjoong’s knife against his neck, in Wooyoung’s gun against his chest dared him to change, to push back.

For once in his life, San would stand and trust himself, trust these people he’d thrown his lots in with. He had nothing else. “Teach me.”

“What?” Wooyoung sputtered, blinking.

“You said I had things to learn.” San stepped forward until Wooyoung had to look up at him. “So, teach me.” 

They stared, neither willing to back down. San unwilling to back down.

Wooyoung looked away. Running one hand through his hair and placing the other on his hip, he clicked his tongue, exasperated. “You sure?” he asked, brow raised. This time he sounded genuinely curious and concerned as to why San would choose to stay.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Wooyoung’s nose scrunched as he tapped the deck with the toe of his boot. He groaned. “Fine, but don’t blame me if you get killed.”

“I won’t,” San said. “I’ll just haunt you instead.”

***

Wooyoung set up a pyramid of tin cans on a barrel and held his rifle out to San. He pulled it away before San could take it though, saying, “Remember, you’re the one who pulls the trigger. No one else.”

San nodded and grabbed the weapon from him. He’d watched his father hunt pheasants on the estate before. None of it took any skill and San wasn’t much interested in a weapon that didn’t need skill to be deadly. That didn’t matter now. He gripped the cool metal and settled his pointer finger on the trigger. He raised it, took aim.

“Relax,” Wooyoung said, pressing on San’s shoulders to ease their tension. “Now, breathe.”

San did; he tried his hardest to stay focused on the targets and not on how close Wooyoung was.

“Fire.”

The bullet grazed the top can. It teetered but didn’t topple.

“Again.”

San inhaled, exhaled, relaxed. This time, the bullet hit the middle can, crashing the whole pyramid.

Wooyoung slapped him on the back and gave a low whistle. “Damn, Sannie! Are you sure you’ve never shot a gun before?”

Sannie. Like he wasn’t threatening San as an outsider just a minute ago. Easy. San let himself be easy, let himself feel proud. He let himself catch Wooyoung’s contagious cheer and spirit. “Maybe I lied. Maybe I’m actually the best shot on this ship.” San rested the barrel on his shoulder.

Wooyoung rolled his shoulders back, sensing the challenge. “No, you’re lucky is what you are.”

“Wanna bet?”

Soon, they were going back and forth, seeing who could knock the tin can pyramid over in the fewest shots. Wooyoung would clap at the last second to throw San off. San would cough in his arm, annoying the hell out of the silver-haired boy, until he was chasing him around the ship. 

San looked back as he ran. “Admit it, you lost.” He turned back around and pivoted right before he crashed into an unsuspecting Seonghwa.

Wooyoung took advantage and threw his arms around San’s shoulders, trapping him.

Seonghwa looked from Wooyoung to San and back again but didn’t say anything. He just shook his head and continued on his way to Yeosang. 

“Um,” San started, tapping Wooyoung’s interlocked hands around his neck, “you can let me go now.”

“What? No way.”

San blamed the way his face heated up on the white sun overhead and their running around. He bent forward, trying to shake him off, but Wooyoung only tightened his grip. He dragged the both of them to the side of the boat. “Guess I’ll throw you off then.”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty light.” San leaned over.

“Okay, okay.” Wooyoung let go and stepped back. “Psycho,” he muttered. He rubbed his hands on his pants, combed his fingers through his hair, twisted the silver rings on his right hand. 

San realized too late. “Oh, I’m—” He reached out to what? He was joking but just a day ago, Wooyoung not being on the ship wasn’t a joke. “I’m sorry,” he tried, voice weak.

“It’s fine.” Wooyoung kept fidgeting with his hands, before locking his arms at his sides. “It’s fine,” he said, sounding less convincing than the first time.

“Are you, though?” San asked. “I never…” he wasn’t sure if he should finish, but he figured he had to know at some point. “Who’s after you?”

Wooyoung sighed, massaged the back of his neck. He stepped to the side of the boat, gripped the edge, looked out at the ocean. “We don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “They showed up out of nowhere.”

San leaned over the side, gaze focused on the horizon as he hung on Wooyoung’s every word. He’d be lying if he said their not knowing didn’t scare the shit out of him. It seemed every time the topic of the enemy came up a shadow fell over them, dark and penetrating. 

“Their ship came out of nowhere and they started firing, but they never left their ship. We don’t know what they want, who they’re working for. They never say anything.”

“So, how did you…” San prompted. 

“I was out in the rescue boat fishing, when they showed up.” Wooyoung shook his head. “I didn’t even hear him come on my boat. It all happened so fast.” He slid one of his rings on and off his finger. “It felt like déjà vu, like I knew him, or like he knew me?” Wooyoung laughed quietly, fully aware how crazy he sounded. “Like I remember getting stabbed, but then… nothing. Just black. And then I was back on the ship, drenched, with Yeo yelling at me to wake up.”

And San was in the cell below deck, suspected of having done Heaven knows what to spirit Wooyoung away. San watched the thin, wispy clouds drift by. He risked a glance at Wooyoung’s profile, wanting to offer some sort of comfort.

Yeosang shouted.

The pair whirled around, startled by the sudden noise.

Yeosang jumped into Seonghwa’s arms, the biggest smile on his face. He waved to Wooyoung. “I figured it out!” he called.

“I knew you were the expert,” Wooyoung yelled back.

Yeosang flicked him off, but the smile on his face while he did only made Wooyoung laugh. 

“Good,” Wooyoung said, only loud enough for San to hear, “The sooner we get to White Whale, the sooner this all can be done and over with.”

San suspected he was speaking to himself more than anybody, but San also wanted to believe it’d be that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Turns out, I'm a liar and will be updating twice a week. I realized I don't do anything other than work on this fic and have been chugging right along, busting out like a chapter a day. Plus, it's killing me waiting this long to put these babies out there. I'm eager to know what you all think, so def leave comments and kudos. See you next time!
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @angeltiny13


	4. At the Mercy of the Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The violence starts here. Proceed at your own discretion.

After determining their location, Yeosang discovered they weren’t as far from White Whale island as they originally thought. It only took them three days of sailing to reach the territory. San used that time to improve his firearm and sword skills, practicing with an actual cutlass for the first time. He wouldn’t last long in a drawn-out duel, but he was proficient enough to buy himself some time. What he was able to brush up on was his hand-to-hand combat skills. What he lacked in brute strength he made up for in flexibility and speed. 

Gun practice with Wooyoung. Sword duels with Hongjoong. Sparring with Jongho. Mingi showed off his cannons, which he so lovingly called his sexy ladies. Yunho gave San a tour of the ship, which they called the Aurora, revealing all its nooks and crannies. Yeosang gave him a rundown of how he figured out where they were, flaunting his many navigation tools and handmade book of star charts that may or may not have also held a record of debts the crew members owed him. San wasn’t sure, since Yeosang closed it too fast. Seonghwa taught San a few simple recipes and even showed him how to clean and dress a wound. 

There was no such thing as free or alone time. Although exhausting, it was a kind of tired San quickly came to appreciate. Of course, there were times when the seven boys would get to joking about things that happened before San got there, but they never lingered long, and they never discussed their lives before the Aurora. San didn’t mind; he didn’t want to discuss his either. Like Hongjoong and Seonghwa, sometimes he was content to just observe, take it all in.

It was the evening before they were going to arrive at White Whale port. The night was on the cooler side, so they all gathered in the captain’s quarters. Hongjoong on top of the desk, Seonghwa leaning against its edge. Yunho and Mingi sitting on the desk chairs backward. Jongho stood against the wall by the door. San shared a seat on the storage trunk with Wooyoung and Yeosang, their shoulders pressed together. 

“Seonghwa and I will replenish the food supply,” Hongjoong said, seemingly not too happy that he was on grocery duty, “Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho will try to barter for an ammunition restock. San, you can go with Wooyoung and Yeosang to White Whale.”

Wooyoung bumped San’s shoulder with his own, mouth quirking up in a quick, almost imperceptible smile. 

“We’ll drop the supplies off on the ship, then meet you all at the academy.”

Everyone was quieter than usual. They stood at the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss where answers may hide, terrified to jump. There was no time to hesitate though. The black ship could show up again at any moment. 

“Watch each other’s backs,” Hongjoong said. “Eight people leave this ship, so I should have eight people back on it by sundown. Got it?”

Everyone nodded and muttered vague, nervous sounds of agreement.

“Got it?” Hongjoong tried again, sterner this time.

“Aye!” they called back.

San looked around, swearing he’d protect these people, _his people_ , with everything he had.

***

They woke early the next morning to steer the boat into port and register as an independent crew with the harbor master. After reviewing the plan one more time everyone split off in their respective groups. 

Yeosang, Wooyoung, and San walked a good distance through the seaside market until they hit the main road. From there, Yeosang flagged down a farmer driving a hay wagon that was headed up the hill toward the school. It wouldn’t take them directly there, but far enough so they wouldn’t be dead on their feet by the time they arrived. 

San and Yeosang climbed in, swinging their legs over the side and tumbling into the hay. Wooyoung didn’t do the same, just held out his hands expectantly.

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

Wooyoung pouted and wiggled his fingers.

Yeosang sighed and held out his hand. San held his out too and they pulled Wooyoung up and into the wagon. They all fell backward with Wooyoung on top of them, laughing with his whole body. 

Yeosang shoved Wooyoung off of him until he lied square on San’s chest.

Wooyoung lifted his head, giving San that heated look and smirk he did the first time they met. “Hey,” he whispered.

“I can’t breathe,” San said. And really, he couldn’t with Wooyoung on top of him, but he was unwilling to admit there were other reasons. This was becoming a regular occurrence. Being around Wooyoung was effortless, but sometimes, suddenly, without warning, he would be a little too close and San would forget how to speak, think, breathe. He figured this was just how Wooyoung was, so he wasn’t going to project any deeper meaning on the silver-haired boy’s actions. San just had to get used to it, but damn was he making it hard.

Wooyoung rolled off of him and the three of them lied there in the hay, watching the blue sky as the wagon rolled up the bumpy hill. 

“Why’d you guys leave White Whale?” San asked. “Or, I guess, how’d you end up on the Aurora?”

“It’s really nothing exciting,” Yeosang admitted.

Wooyoung snickered in agreement.

“We ran into the captain at the port,” Yeosang continued, “It was our first day off in months. Even though we were training to be sailors, we hadn’t stepped foot off the school grounds for that long. We missed the sea.” He sounded wistful, amused, reminiscing about the past. “We were sitting on the dock, when we heard Hongjoong and Seonghwa arguing over directions”

San smiled, easily imagining the pair in a heated debate like the old married couple they were.

“It wasn’t anything. I just asked where they were going, told them how to get there.”

“Come on,” Wooyoung insisted, “You’re a navigation genius.”

Yeosang shrugged. “They asked if we had a crew. We could join them on the sea or return to the school, the uniforms, the box.”

They chose the sea.

“It’s fucking insane when you think about it,” Yeosang added.

“That’s why I don’t,” said Wooyoung. 

San hummed to himself. It was all fucking insane, but the crew made it worth the risk. They each had a way of making the other feel like this was where they had belonged all along and joining the Aurora was more like coming home than jumping into the dark. 

The wagon stopped at another market, busy with noon time patrons. They all hopped out and thanked the farmer for the ride. They strolled through the crowd, easily blending in. San was amazed at how chaotic and loud and intense everything was, as vendors shouted their prices and shoppers bartered for lower ones. So many sweet and spicy scents drifted through the air, competing with each other. San’s stomach growled and he hoped no one heard, but Wooyoung shoved him, laughing.

“We’ll eat once we get to the academy,” he assured San.

“We can eat now, if you want,” Yeosang said.

“But we don’t have any money.”

“No, _you_ don’t have any money.” Yeosang pulled a purple velvet coin purse from his pocket. “The captain doesn’t give you any when we go to port anymore because you always blow it in one go.”

Wooyoung looked like he was about to choke Yeosang if San wasn’t between them.

They stopped at a stall selling grilled chicken on a stick dipped in some orange glaze with red flecks. Yeosang gave the portly man the money and took the three chicken sticks, handing one to San and one to Wooyoung. One bite set San’s mouth on fire. He turned, fanning his open mouth as tears sprung to his eyes.

Yeosang and Wooyoung were busy laughing, when San saw two figures in black. They were like sharks among fish in the sea of beiges and browns. 

“They’re here,” San managed to get out despite the fear choking his throat. 

Everyone straightened, but didn’t run, so they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. The figures in black wore masks over their mouths. The wide brims of their hats covered their eyes as they surveyed the crowd. Silver chains swung from their necks.

Wooyoung tugged San’s sleeve and jerked his head, signaling him to follow as they made their way behind the stall. Slowly, quietly, steadily they slipped by, hearts racing. 

“Hey!” shouted a woman, mistaking them for thieves. Wooyoung, startled, tripped over her basket of potatoes. San dragged him up by the arm as they broke into a sprint. 

Yeosang cursed beneath his breath, taking the lead. 

San risked a glance behind them and sure enough, the black figures were close behind. Yeosang led them into the most packed areas, jumping over carts and ducking around cattle to hopefully slow down their pursuers. 

“Fuck this,” Wooyoung said, breathless.

Before San could ask, Wooyoung skirted to a halt, turned and pulled his gun on them. 

“Woo, come on,” Yeosang pleaded.

“The academy’s too far,” Wooyoung answered, “No way we can outrun them all the way there.”

Neither San nor Yeosang knew what to do.

Supposedly neither did their enemy, because they just stood there in the open space the fleeing villagers had created. The shorter one took a step forward.

The gun went off.

His body snapped back from the impact as his gloved hand gripped his left shoulder.

Wooyoung took another shot.

Yeosang cried out, dropped to his knees. 

San went to catch him before he fell over. He looked to the figures, searching for another gun, but the other was only picking up his wounded partner. Yeosang winced as a scarlet stain spread across his shirt in the same spot Wooyoung had shot the enemy. San didn’t know what the hell was going on, but they had to get out of here before Yeosang bled out.

Wooyoung glanced back and did a double take before realizing what had happened. He was caught, worried for Yeosang but not wanting to let the enemy get away. When he looked back though, they had disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. He rushed to Yeosang’s side. “What happened?” he screamed, horror shredding his voice. 

“I— I don’t know, but we have to get him some help.”

“Ah, fuck, it hurts,” Yeosang groaned.

“I didn’t— I mean I—” 

“Wooyoung, stop.” San gripped Wooyoung’s shoulder. His wild eyes met San’s. “We gotta get Yeosang help before he bleeds out.”

Wooyoung’s ragged breaths steadied once he nodded and ripped the hem of his shirt, balled up the fabric and pressed it inside Yeosang’s collar to the mysterious wound. He stumbled to his feet and snatched a horse-drawn wagon from one of the bystanders.

San picked Yeosang up, careful not to jostle him too much, and carried him to the wagon.

As soon as San and Yeosang were settled, Wooyoung mounted the horse and snapped the reins, setting them on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! So sorry I had to end on a cliffhanger, but things are starting to pick up, no? Buckle in. Let me know how you liked it by leaving comments and kudos. 
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @angeltiny13


	5. Rivers Run Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW / Brief discussion of suicide attempt (marked by ~)

Once they approached the academy grounds, Wooyoung steered the cart to a back road so they could go straight to the dormitories without alerting anyone. 

“We have to go the rest of the way on foot,” Wooyoung said, bringing the horse to a stop. 

San nodded, looking to Yeosang who lied in his lap, pale and breathing heavy. “I can get up,” he muttered.

“No,” San cut him off. “I’ll get out first, then I’ll just need you to get on my back.”

After some wincing and cursing, San had Yeosang on his back, his arms draped over his shoulders; they hurried with Wooyoung in the lead. San felt the wet heat of Yeosang’s blood stain the back of his shirt. 

Staying hidden by the shadow of the tree line, they rushed behind a neat row of uniform box houses, each with flags mounted to their roofs. One on the end stood above the rest, as tall as two box houses stacked on top of each other. Its flag was a light blue with an oddly shaped yellow star in the center. Wooyoung ran to it. He frantically knocked on the low window. 

A head of black hair popped into view and swung the window open. “Wooyoung? What are you—”

“Where’s Yeonjun?”

“Class,” he answered, confused, “but he should be back…soon.” His gaze drifted from Wooyoung to San, or rather who San was carrying. His eyebrows shot up. “Is that Yeosang?”

“Yeah, now he’s going to fucking bleed out if you don’t help us.”

“Okay, okay, go to the front. Everyone’s in class right now.”

They did and the black-haired boy was already outside holding the door open. Once inside, he closed and locked the door, slid the curtains over the front window. A snap of his fingers lit all of the candles in the kitchen. He swept all the open books from the dining table to the floor. “Lay him down,” he directed, “gently.” 

San squatted to set Yeosang on the edge of the table, then went around to support him as he lied down. 

The black-haired boy left but quickly returned with a basket of towels and medical supplies. He rolled up the sleeves of his white button up, then took a pair of scissors and cut Yeosang’s shirt up the middle. He pulled away the bloodied ball of fabric. “You,” he said, looking to San, “press those towels to the wound. It’s gonna hurt him but apply as much pressure as you can.”

San wasn’t sure why he’d asked him but one look at Wooyoung answered his question.

Sheer terror wrung Wooyoung’s whole body like a rag. His hands trembled as they anxiously pushed his hair back. He stumbled back until he hit the wall and slid down, legs giving out. He was murmuring something, shaking his head, as if entranced. 

As San pressed the towel to Yeosang’s shoulder, Yeosang ground his teeth and gripped the table’s edge, knuckles turning white.

“How’d he get shot?” Black hair asked Wooyoung, tone urgent, as he cut long strips of cloth.

Wooyoung tried but all that came out were clipped words and half-formed phrases.

“We don’t know,” San jumped in. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“There were these black figures chasing us and Wooyoung shot one, but then Yeosang started bleeding from the same spot.”

The other’s expression looked at San as if he’d just escaped from the asylum.

Suddenly, the dim space brightened as the sun poured in through the open door. A boy with ocean blue hair almost dropped his bag, startled by the scene in the kitchen. “What is…” His eyes bounced from Yeosang to San to the black-haired boy and then to a paralyzed Wooyoung by his feet. He shut the door, then kneeled on one knee, placing a gentle hand on Wooyoung’s arm. “Hey,” he tried. 

Wooyoung jerked as if just noticing that someone else was in the room. 

The boy San assumed was Yeonjun stood and came over to where Yeosang lied. “When I said you should visit, I didn’t mean like this,” he said under his breath. He nudged San to remove the soaked towel. 

The black-haired boy prompted San to explain to Yeonjun what he’d explained to him just moments ago. Yeonjun leaned over, examining the open wound, as he listened intently. “There’s no bullet,” he interrupted.

San stopped. “What?”

“Soobin, give me more light.”

The black-haired boy, Soobin, flicked his wrist and the flames on the candles grew to a raging gold. It would’ve been pretty had it not illuminated Yeosang’s pale, sweat-drenched body.

Yeonjun pat Yeosang’s cheek to get his attention. “Yeosang, I need you to sit up a bit for me.” 

Yeosang grunted and rolled as best he could to his side.

Yeonjun checked his back, before letting him lie flat again. “It didn’t go through and there’s no bullet inside the muscle.”

“Bullet wound with no bullet?” San questioned. “But I—” He paused. He never saw Yeosang get shot. He just saw him start bleeding. 

“Look, um…”

“San. I just joined the Aurora.”

Yeonjun nodded, understanding. “Look, San, we’ll worry about the how later but it’s good there’s no bullet. He’ll be fine. We’ll get him stitched up and you can…” He glanced over his shoulder at Wooyoung. “You can take care of him, yeah?”

San’s chest tightened. He swallowed and answered, “Yeah.” He went to Wooyoung, kneeled on both knees, pressed his hands to his shoulders. “Woo,” he whispered. “Hey, they said he’s going to be fine.”

Wooyoung looked up, eyes still glassy and distant. 

“Come on,” San rubbed small circles with his thumbs, “let’s take a walk while they work.”

Wooyoung blinked, processing San’s words. “He’s okay?”

“He’s okay.” San tried a reassuring smile, but he was afraid it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now, I need you to breathe.” San inhaled and exhaled, encouraging Wooyoung to follow.

After a few beats, he did, then nodded, slowly, as if returning from some far-off place. 

Hands still on his shoulders, San helped Wooyoung stand. They stepped outside and shaded their eyes from the sudden change in light. San kept a watchful eye on Wooyoung as they walked around the side of the house. Even though he was right beside him, Wooyoung still felt too far to reach, but damn was San desperate to pull him out of whatever black hole he was burying himself in. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” San said quietly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

Wooyoung stopped, turned to San. “You’re right,” he said, frustration coming off him in waves. “None of us know a goddamn thing. I wasn’t thinking and Yeosang almost died because of me.”

“You were trying to protect us,” San insisted, careful to keep his voice down.

“I was protecting myself.” Even as he said the words, they both knew they were paper thin and hollow. “Forget it.” He turned away and started walking again.

San stood there, watched him go, feeling helpless.

Wooyoung swayed before catching himself against the side of the house for support. San rushed to see if he was okay. Both their eyes widened once Wooyoung pressed a hand to his side and pulled it away painted red.

“You must’ve busted your stitches while you were on the horse.”

Wooyoung’s shoulders dropped and he just looked tired, so tired of everything.

“Wait here, I’ll go get some stuff to patch you up.”

“I can—” Wooyoung started to argue, grabbing San’s arm. 

San stared, waited, dared him to keep up the bravado.

Wooyoung sighed and let him go.

After asking Soobin for supplies, San returned and suggested they go to the back for more privacy. They sat down in the grass. After some fiddling, Wooyoung clicked his tongue and just tugged his shirt off, giving San easier access. 

San went to work, applying what Seonghwa taught him and all those years of watching the maid mend the knees of his trousers after climbing one too many trees. Taking a wet towel, he cleaned away the extra blood and tried to focus on keeping his breath steady. Whenever he got too close to the actual wound, Wooyoung would try to hide his wince. 

“I didn’t think you were like this,” San said, hesitant and hyperaware of Wooyoung’s state of undress.

“Like what?”

“Stubborn.” San looked up with a well-meaning smile, but Wooyoung wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead turning his head, bottom lip poked out.

“I’m always the one being taken care of,” he muttered after a while. 

“You’re lucky though, having people who care for you.”

The breeze blew, carrying their heavy words away like dandelion fluff. San threaded the needle and counted to three before making the first stitch.

Wooyoung inhaled sharply, tugging the grass from the ground in fistfuls. In spite of himself, he let out a soft whimper. “Where were you?” he asked between clenched teeth, probably just to distract himself, “I mean before us. They said you almost drowned, before Jongho pulled you out.”

San paused before the needle pierced the wrong area. He shouldn’t be surprised. He knew they all were curious. He’d thrown himself so wholly into this new life that his old life started to fade to the background, like it was nothing more than a bad dream. That’s how being around the crew made him feel. That’s how easy they made it.

Wooyoung went back to picking at the grass, completely willing to let it go.

~

San finished stitching his side, tied it off, and cut the string. He sat up on his knees and caught Wooyoung’s eye, willing himself to be brave, honest. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed. It was that he’d climbed so far from that dark hole that he didn’t even want to give the abyss a second glance. “I wanted to die,” he said.

Wooyoung didn’t look away, so he continued. “I didn’t want to kill myself; at least, I don’t think, because I would’ve put rocks in my pocket or something, but…” San laughed an empty, short laugh, rubbing his thumb in his palm. “I just wanted to stop breathing, existing. I felt like a ghost already. My father,” San hated the way his throat caught on the meaningless word, “he was never one for affection, or even acknowledgement. He doesn’t hate me. Can’t hate someone you don’t even think about. I was just another investment to manage.” San took a breath before he wasted anymore energy on the man. “Growing up like that can really mess you up.”

~

San busied himself in the silence, placing the towel, needle, and thread back in the basket.

“You have people who care about you,” Wooyoung said, voice soft but firm. “The guys, me. I shouldn’t have asked; we’ve all got our shit. And just like us, it doesn’t matter how you got here. You’re here now.”

San smiled to himself, grabbing the basket and moving to get up.

“I’m serious,” Wooyoung pressed, taking San’s hand. “You haven’t been with us long, but you give your all in everything. You’re caring and kind and you don’t give up.”

 _Where was this coming from?_

Wooyoung released his hand suddenly and looked away. “Your dad’s fucking blind not to see that,” he muttered. 

His open, earnest expression bore down on San’s chest, made his head rush.

“Hey!”

Wooyoung and San startled, yanked from what felt like their own little world. 

Yeonjun skipped over to them. “Hey, we got him all stitched up. He’s sleeping now, so we moved him to my room.”

Wooyoung put his shirt back on and they stood. “Thanks, Jun,” Wooyoung said. “I’m sorry I—”

Yeonjun put his hands up, cutting him off. “You would’ve done the same for me if I was involved in some scary underworld dark magic shit. Now,” he put his hands on his hips, “you wanna tell me what kind of scary underworld dark magic shit _you’re_ involved in?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung shared a look with San, “that’s why we’re here.”

After not a lot of deliberation, they all agreed this would be best over some food. So, Soobin made everyone sandwiches and San was grateful to finally eat after the afternoon’s events. They all sat at the kitchen table after Yeonjun convinced a concerned Wooyoung that yes, he had sterilized it three times. They filled them in on everything they knew, while Soobin and Yeonjun nodded here and there, processing what surely sounded like a madman’s tall tale. 

Once they were finished, Yeonjun pushed his empty plate away. “And you haven’t seen their faces?” he asked.

“No,” Wooyoung said. “They’re like shadows, following us everywhere, and it’s starting to get real fucking annoying.”

Yeonjun slapped the table and shot up from his chair. He left the kitchen, mumbling something about a book. He returned with a leather-bound tome, dropping it onto the table with a resounding thud. He began flipping through the pages, still talking to himself.

“Um,” Wooyoung said, “wanna fill us in?”

“Here.” Yeonjun pushed the book to the middle of the table. 

Everyone leaned in, expectant, curious. 

Yeonjun flipped through more pages, scanning the text and illustrated diagrams. “We were just learning about this, the map of the soul.”

“Those are just theories,” Soobin interjected. 

“They teach them as theories but what if they’re not? We call it magic but we’re really just manipulating and giving shape to the energy both inside and around us. Not everyone has the level of cognizance necessary to—”

“Yeonjun,” Wooyoung put up his hands, “in Korean please.”

Yeonjun took a much-needed breath. “You said they’re like shadows, right?”

Wooyoung and San nodded.

“That’s because they are. They’re _your_ shadows.”

“You’re still not making sense.”

“We’re made up of four different energies in a constant state of imbalance—persona, ego, shadow, anima. We’re always suppressing one or pushing one forward to talk to certain people, to get through the day. Most people keep their shadow on a tight leash, but yours may have gotten loose and…manifested itself.” 

“Wait,” San turned to Wooyoung, “Has there always been eight of them?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung answered, looking sick to his stomach.

“But I just joined you all,”

“Sometimes,” Yeonjun offered, “energy can travel beyond us, whether that’s across the line of time or physical locations.”

“Which is how they’re transporting,” Wooyoung finished. He bit his lip, processing all of the new information. 

“So how do we get rid of them?” San asked.

“You don’t,” Yeonjun said, as if that was the most ridiculous thing they’d said yet. “Like it or not, your shadows are a part of you.”

Wooyoung slammed his hand on the table. “My shadow tried to kill me!”

“And likely hurt itself in the process. They were probably just as confused as you were. You shot Yeosang’s shadow, which is why Yeosang started bleeding even though there was no bullet.”

Wooyoung dropped his gaze to his lap, clenching his fist on the table.

San wanted to reach for his hand, but a knock at the door interrupted the thought. 

Soobin went to answer it and the rest of the Aurora crew filed into the narrow kitchen. Wooyoung didn’t look at them, just combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it an anxious mess. Covering for him, San took the lead in briefing the Captain on everything that had happened, Yeosang’s condition, which Seonghwa rushed to go confirm, and their current situation.

After he finished, Hongjoong’s face was stone and grim. It seemed everyone waited on bated breath for his orders, to lead them, to fix things, to help them not feel so scared. “How’d this happen?” he asked Yeonjun, voice rugged.

“I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, it’s because you’re all running from something,” Yeonjun treaded lightly, likely feeling the pressure of the entire crew’s eyes on him, “a past self, memory, relationship. Suppressing energy only forces it to manifest somewhere else.”

Hongjoong looked ready to pop a vein; everyone shifted uncomfortably, looking everywhere but each other. 

San remembered Wooyoung’s words: _We’ve all got our shit_. 

“How do we fix it?” Hongjoong asked.

“Face the past.”

“Something tells me it’s not as simple as saying sorry or forgiving.”

They shared a sarcastic snicker that stayed in their throats. “No, it’s not that simple.” Yeonjun gestured vaguely with his hands, working his theory out in his head before suggesting it. “If your shadows are held in jars, then your jars are cracked. You gotta figure out how to somehow manifest your jar so you can patch it up or swap it for a bigger one, so your shadows don’t suffocate the both of you.”

“They can’t do it on their own,” Soobin finally spoke up. “You’ll need a medium to help you, since your senses aren’t trained enough to tell your energies apart.”

“A medium?” Mingi asked. “Like a fortune teller?”

“No, like a talisman, a necklace, looking glass—” 

“A mirror,” Hongjoong finished. 

“Yeah, those work well as entrances,” Soobin hesitated, “but aren’t always reliable exits and are usually made by witches. Do you know one?”

Hongjoong shook his head, laughed at a joke only he heard. “I know seven.”

After a few hours, Yeosang awoke. The crew (mostly a dramatic Yunho and sobbing Mingi) ambushed him with relieved but cautious hugs and well-meaning threats that if he didn’t wake up they would have dragged his ass back from hell themselves. They stuffed themselves into the tiny bedroom, but Wooyoung stayed in the doorway. San leaned against the wall by the door.

Yeosang answered Seonghwa’s worry-laden questions of how he was feeling. Hongjoong pressed a hand to Seonghwa’s shoulder, told him not to overwhelm the kid, that he was strong like the rest of them. Jongho suggested how nice the scar would look but lamented how it’d always be hidden by a shirt. Yeosang said he’ll try to get shot in a better spot next time. Everyone laughed.

Everyone except Wooyoung.

Yeosang noticed and tried to catch Wooyoung’s eye.

San took Wooyoung’s wrist in his hand, tugged him into the room with the others. Being yanked so suddenly out of his own head made Wooyoung trip over his feet and draw everyone’s attention to him. 

Yeosang raised an inspecting eyebrow. “Hey,” he said as he crossed his arms.

Wooyoung opened his mouth to plead his case, but snapped it shut with one decisive look from his childhood friend.

“Don’t you dare. There’s nothing you can do to change what happened; we’re alive. Well,” he paused, looking Wooyoung up and down, “I know I am. You, on the other hand, look like shit.”

With that, Mingi pulled Wooyoung into a strangling bear hug. Everyone drew closer into a tangled mess of a group hug. Yunho wasted no time pulling San by the arm to join them along with a protesting Jongho. San couldn’t ignore the bubbling warmth in his chest, thick like hot honey. He didn’t know whose arms were around his shoulders or whose body he leaned on so he didn’t fall. 

After the short fits of laughter died down, Hongjoong spoke, quiet enough for only them to hear. “We’re gonna get through this. _All_ of us. Eight in the beginning, eight in the end.”

San felt rather than heard everyone’s devotion to the creed. He hoped the others felt his promise of loyalty too.

They separated and discussed their next move—the Isle of Jubilee to solicit the help of the Witches of the Red Sun coven. Apparently, Hongjoong had come across them when he was a child. The casual way he brushed the encounter off made San doubt they had just bumped into each other at the market, but now didn’t feel like a good time to ask for details. 

After expressing thanks and insistent I.O. U’s, Wooyoung and Yeosang hugged and said goodbye to their old friends. They promised to stay in touch and meet again under better circumstances. Yeonjun punched Wooyoung on the shoulder, told him to never scare him like that again. Soobin placed a small blue porcelain jar in Yeosang’s hand, explaining it was a natural healing salve he’d made. 

After final farewells, the Aurora crew made their way back to the ship and set a course for Jubilee Isle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe my favorite part of this whole work was crossing over the different groups' lore and storylines and drawing parallels. It's what inspired this story in the first place. This has probably been the longest chapter so far, only because this and the last chapter were originally one; I attempted to split it evenly but then there'd be no cliffhanger and where's the fun in that? Anywho, I'll stop rambling and let you go.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Leave comments and kudos to let me know what you think!
> 
> Find me on Twitter @angeltiny13


	6. From the Earth to the Sky

The first few days were spent heading south, constant attention being paid to making sure the sails didn’t pull them too west or east. The winds raged with a vengeance, so San helped Yunho maintain course, while Hongjoong steered. Yeosang checked the stars at night, estimating how long it would take them if the winds kept up. 

Today, though, the gale storm calmed to a subtle breeze; the sun was a soft yellow in the mute blue sky. They let the steady waves carry them, only turning the wheel and adjusting the rudder every so often. The high of the last few days melted from everyone and left them listless. They all spread out on the ship, actually relaxing for once. Well, most of them, anyway.

Jongho went off by himself to exercise, lifting different weighted barrels, doing squats, push ups, crunches. Wooyoung watched the youngest with repulsed astonishment. He and San, instead, sat and watched Yeosang completely demolish Yunho and Mingi in a card game that moved too fast for San to follow. San looked around for the captain but didn’t see him or Seonghwa anywhere on deck. 

“Yawn,” Wooyoung drew out. “Let’s play something else.”

“Wait, wait,” Mingi pleaded with Yeosang, “One more round.”

“Yeah, deal another hand,” Yunho said, just as eager.

“You’re just gonna lose again,” Wooyoung answered for them, but no one was listening.

Yeosang’s eyes glistened like a lion about to take down an antelope. He started dealing the cards again. “You could learn to play,” he said.

“And get roped into your mind games? No thanks.” Wooyoung huffed and pouted.

San turned his head to hide his laughter. Before he turned back, he already felt the silver-haired boy’s pointed glare on him. Rather than whine some more, Wooyoung pulled San’s arm, standing them both up. “Come on,” he said, as if he was giving San a choice and not dragging him across the deck to the hatch. He let his arm go so they could climb down the ladder. 

Wooyoung rushed to their room and threw open the trunk, tossing clothes out behind him.

San dodged a pair of pants and asked what he was looking for.

Instead of answering, Wooyoung just told San to sit next to him on the floor. “Here it is,” he said, pulling out a large glass jar full of what looked like black pudding. He pinned San down with a stare and grin that definitely couldn’t mean anything good. “It’s time for a new look.”

San unconsciously ran a hand through his chestnut brown hair. It had grown a little long and wavier with all the salt in the air. “What’s in the jar?”

“Hair mud,” he said, twisting open the jar, “Yeonjun and I used to play with it all the time. You never know what you’re gonna to get. Yeosang tried it once and it turned his hair pink for a whole month.” Wooyoung laughed at the memory. “Wonder what color it’ll turn yours.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

San licked his lips, took a breath, and nodded. “Okay, go ahead.”

Wooyoung stuck his hand in the jar, scooping out a generous amount of the gooey substance. He rubbed it between both his palms and started massaging it into San’s hair. He worked in silence and San wished Wooyoung would be talkative like usual. Without the distraction, San’s thoughts fought for attention.

Wooyoung’s fingers combing through his scalp, tugging on his strands was something he was quickly getting addicted to. For once, he didn’t wish that the younger man would spare his heart and give him space. San savored how close they were and the warm comfort it gave. 

Wooyoung shuffled on his knees to get behind San. He rubbed some more of the goo through the hair at the nape of San’s neck.

San closed his eyes, focused on keeping his breathing normal. 

“Thanks,” Wooyoung said, voice hushed, “for the other day.”

“It’s nothing, really,” San assured him. He couldn’t see Wooyoung’s expression; he only felt the strokes through his hair slow and soften to idle caresses. San was sure he’d already covered every strand, but he didn’t move away or say anything. He let himself enjoy the touch, the moment. 

“I’m serious,” Wooyoung continued, “You… kept me sane.” 

San pressed his thumb to his palm, unsure what to say.

“I’ll be back,” Wooyoung said, standing. He hurried out of the room, leaving San to process how delicate his voice was, how much he missed the feel of his hands in his hair. 

His scalp started to burn and tingle, but he resisted the urge to scratch it.

Wooyoung returned, carrying a bucket of water and a towel on his shoulder. After setting the bucket down, he took out the cup floating in the water and the scant bar of soap. “Okay, hold this over your face,” he said, handing San the towel, “and bend over the bucket.”

San did as he was told and felt the cool water fall over his head. Wooyoung’s hands returned to his scalp, lathering the soap to a cloud of gray bubbles. Something about this felt so quietly intimate, so precious. He closed his eyes and a fuzzy memory rose to the surface—thin fingers on his small head, soap that smelled of roses and lavender, playing peek-a-boo under the towel. More water poured over him, washing the memory away.

“Finished.”

San sat up, flipping his hair back and covering it with the towel. He rustled the towel back and forth, while Wooyoung searched under his bed for something. 

“Don’t take the towel off yet,” he said, straining his arm to reach whatever he was looking for. He pulled out a frameless mirror and dusted it off with his shirt. Resting on his knees in front of San, he held the mirror up and said, “Okay, now.”

San let the towel drape around his shoulders. His mouth fell open. “Wow.” His hair was pitch black with scarlet streaks peeking out here and there. He tugged on a piece that fell across his forehead and smiled. San was about to thank Wooyoung but when he saw the look on his face he stopped. 

Wooyoung looked as if ready to say something, mouth parted, but only a weighted silence filled the space. His eyes pierced San, a mix of awe and something else San didn’t dare name. Wooyoung set the mirror to the side and leaned forward, reaching a hand out.

A heavy clap of thunder battered and shook the room’s walls. Immediately after, as if the sky ripped open, they heard rain pound a violent rhythm on the upper deck.

Wooyoung jumped up and San hurried after him. They ran into a disheveled Hongjoong and Seonghwa, everyone on their way to assess the damage and figure out how in the hell a storm of this degree had sneaked up on them.

Emerging from the hatch, the rain instantly soaked them as if they’d all just took a dip in a stream. The sky covered them in a heavy charcoal black, lightning igniting the clouds in flashes. San pushed his hair from his forehead, trying hard to spot everyone.

Hongjoong rushed to the helm, securing the spinning wheel in a strict grip, while Seonghwa ran to help Yeosang and Yunho tighten the sails. Hongjoong shouted orders over the storm, voice rivaling the volume of the deluge: “Mingi and Jongho secure those barrels below deck. Wooyoung and San start tying those cannons down.” Everyone split to their respective tasks, trying their best not to slip over the slick wood.

San rolled his sleeves and cuffed his pants, though the clothes clung to him like a second skin. He took the thick ropes and followed the way Wooyoung wrapped them over and under to tie the cannons to the side of the ship. Once the knots were tied, San braced his foot against the side of the ship, grit his teeth, and threw his weight back to tighten them as much as possible.

“Everybody hold on!” Seonghwa yelled.

Before San could even turn around, a wave crashed over them. San slammed against the side, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He choked and coughed. His grip on the rope dug into his palm, staining the brown threads a deep red. With his other hand, he tried wiping the water from his burning eyes, blinking several times to regain some sort of vision. The rain pounded on, reckless and relentless.

“Hey!” came a strained shout. “Everyone sound off!”

San thought it sounded like Hongjoong, but he couldn’t be sure given his stunned state. “I’m here,” he tried, voice weak. He took a deep breath from the depths of his stomach, used everything in him to scream his presence. Various shouts of the same nature came from all across the deck, from the bow to the stern, one after another until San counted seven others.

“I need those sails opened up,” Hongjoong called, standing straight though the rain beat down.

San and Wooyoung stumbled to their feet, on their way to help hold the sails open.

“Brace yourselves!” Seonghwa called again, as another wave climbed high on their left. San and Wooyoung halted. They were in the middle of the ship with nothing to hold on to. The boat rose and tipped; they struggled to hold their footing.

San saw the terror in Wooyoung’s eyes but also the electricity of an idea. Just as the wave fell over them, he took both San’s hands in his own and they hit the deck. San closed his eyes and held his breath as the ocean collided with them, fixating on nothing else but the feel of Wooyoung’s fingers laced between his own—cold and wet but undeniably there. Once it passed, they opened their eyes and inhaled sharply.

Everyone sounded off again. They stood; the water on the ship now reached their ankles. Jongho slid them a couple of buckets and the crew started scooping and tossing as much water back into the ocean as they could. San’s heart pounded from the exertion, knocking at the confines of his chest as if twice its size.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong cried as he tried to swing the wheel and turn the boat towards the waves.

“Just a little more,” Yunho called to him, keeping an eye on the mainsail.

“Flat waters twenty degrees southwest, Captain,” Yeosang added, hanging onto the mainmast and looking through a telescope.

Mingi and Jongho grunted, tugging the stern to help Hongjoong turn the boat. Hongjoong widened his stance, let out a battle cry, and turned the wheel with everything he had. Another wave rose, but this time it only rocked the boat, raising the bow as the ship rolled over it. The sails snapped, finally catching the winds and propelling them forward. They hit flat waters. The rains let up, as they drew closer to the eye of the storm. Everyone dropped to their knees—soaking wet, bone tired, humbled by the storm.

Mingi let out a long, loud, exaggerated shout as he sprawled himself out on the deck.

Despite the way his body screamed, San laughed. He doubled over, losing himself in the relieving and completely ridiculous act. It felt as if he and death, though they started off on the wrong foot, were quickly becoming well-acquainted.

One by one, everyone’s hesitant, clipped chuckles turned to full-bellied laughter; whether out of relief or pure hysteria, it didn’t matter.

The sky crackled, turned to pitch. A dense weight kept everyone on their knees, as an inky black mist swam around them, its chilled fingers sliding down their spines. Paralyzing panic dragged claws over San’s skin, made the acid in his stomach burn his throat.

From the mist materialized a woman with flaming amber hair. She wore a black dress and black arm-length gloves. Her sharp eyes found Hongjoong; her delicate brow rose, interest piqued. The mist ebbed and flowed in fragile flourishes around her. She spoke and her voice rung like a low bell on their ears, her tongue foreign and fluid.

“San,” Hongjoong called, snapping San out of his daze. “What is she saying?”

It took everything to focus. A cold sweat dripped from San’s brow. His own tongue felt like sandpaper as he tried to translate her words. “She said, _Turn back_.”

Though he couldn’t move, Hongjoong’s face twisted with conflicting emotions. “Don't you want revenge, Witch?” he said in a low growl. “Or have you forgotten?”

San continued to translate: _You are the one who has forgotten. I'm not to blame for your—_

“That’s not what this is about.”

 _It will always be what this is about. For all of you._ She glanced at everyone, eyes piercing, a hint of pity. _Forever running towards what you’re running away from._

Hongjoong’s jaw flexed, irritation radiating from him. “We want…” he sighed, “we want to stop running.”

She turned to hear him out, a sick satisfaction pulling her deep red lips into a smirk. _Well, you know where we are, little one. Near the same place you fell long ago._ With those final words, she disappeared.

The full moon returned to the now cloudless sky. San felt his stomach jerk; he gagged but nothing came up. Everyone had similar reactions to the unearthly pressure leaving the atmosphere.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Wooyoung snapped, trembling.

Hongjoong stared at the moon. “One of the Red Sun Witches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil fluff; a lil angst. As always, hope you enjoyed. Leave comments and kudos to let me know what you think. Look forward to the next chapter!


	7. Where Lakes Lead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update, because I just finished a really exciting chapter that I can't wait for you guys to see later. Thanks for all the support so far! :)

The crew assessed the damage to the ship. Somehow the only loss they suffered was the missing rescue boats. That night they sailed their brave little ship the rest of the way to the Isle of Jubilee. For an island named after joy, the same couldn’t be said of the people. Hongjoong registered with the harbormaster, a tall yet hunched over old man whose grey skin sagged from his bones.

San looked at their motley crew with their colored hair and somewhat flashy clothes and hoped their Shadows weren’t looking for them. They’d be able to pick them out like a peacock among chickens. The people that milled about on the dock kept their heads down, no one looking anyone in the eye. Their faces and clothes were soot-stained and dingey. The air smelled of smoke and rotten meat.

San didn’t want to be rude and cover his nose, but the stench was quickly becoming overwhelming. He took careful, measured breaths through his mouth. In the distance, loomed a volcano, silhouette like a colossal monument against the night sky.

A small person ran into him.

Before San could help the child from the ground, Hongjoong had his cutlass pointed at the little boy. Hongjoong kissed his teeth, shook his head. “Sloppy, very sloppy.”

“Hongjoong, stop,” San stepped in front of the sword, “He’s just a kid.”

“Check your pockets, San,” Hongjoong suggested.

He did as he was told but was surprised to find they were empty. He turned to the child. “Hey!”

Wooyoung laughed, squeezing his arms around himself. He slapped San on the back. “Sometimes I forget how innocent you are.”

Hongjoong moved San out of the way, knelt down, and spooked the kid so bad he threw San’s coin purse in the mud and bolted. The captain stood, returned San’s coin purse and told him to watch himself, mouth tipped in an amused smirk. “This is the Isle of Jubilee, boys,” he threw his arms out, “the shittiest shit stain of the Seven Seas.” He advised the crew to stop for no one, no matter how sad their story or seductive their offer. Everyone nodded, secured their canvas sacs tighter on their backs and their guns and cutlasses on their hips, and followed as he led them through the port town.

If the stalls weren’t selling some sort of potent-smelling meat or fish, they boasted their selection of a glossy black stone called obsidian. Had San not been paying attention, he would have missed Hongjoong spit in the direction of the obsidian merchants. Ever since they landed, the captain was clearly uncomfortable, shoulders tense and remaining closer to Seonghwa than usual. No one seemed to acknowledge the shift in mood, which made San wonder if it was one of those inside things that happened before he got here.

“The captain grew up here,” Wooyoung whispered.

 _Oh._ That piece of information did nothing but sprout countless other questions. This may be where he grew up, but it didn’t take much to see this was anything but home.

Their fairly large group continued to slog through the muddy roads, passing several decrepit inns and rowdy pubs. “Um,” San started, unsure if he should ask, “How far is the witches’ coven?”

“Too far to get to tonight,” Hongjoong answered from the front without turning around.

“So…where are we staying exactly?”

“In the jungle.” He tossed a snarky look over his shoulder.

“What?” Mingi elbowed San in the ribs, “Afraid of a little camping, your highness?”

“No,” San defended. He just wasn’t sure why they’d pass up a decent bed to sleep on the dirt. His hammock on the ship was starting to take its toll on his back, but he’d be damned if he admitted that out loud. And unleash another slew of jokes about his being a pampered prince? Hell no. He learned that lesson the hard way. One day, after asking where the bath was, a bucket and sponge was shoved into his arms. For a week, everyone asked if he wanted gold soap with his bucket baths or if the water was too cold for his fair skin.

As they approached the edge of town and the opening of the jungle, Hongjoong and Seonghwa took the front while Yunho and Mingi brought up the rear. Both pairs lit gas lamps to chase the suffocating dark away. Hongjoong took to cutting away the overgrowth with a machete. San wiped the sticky sweat from his brow, tugged on his shirt to generate a weak breeze. The recent storm had thickened the humidity from a broth to a stew.

Despite the glow of the lamps, it was still difficult to catch every bump on the uneven jungle floor, which is why San nearly ended up eating mud when he tripped on a thick tree root. Wooyoung caught his arm before he hit the ground. “Careful,” he hissed, voice light.

San’s heart hitched with the pressure of Wooyoung’s fingers against his skin. “Thanks,” San managed to answer without his voice betraying him. Although he’d regained his balance, Wooyoung waited a bit before letting go. Not knowing what to say or do, San simply tightened his grip around the straps of his sac and kept walking, paying extra attention to any coy tree roots.

Once they arrived at a clearing, the captain declared it would be where they’d set up camp for the night. Everyone got to work gathering firewood, clearing away any large rocks, setting down burlap sheets as makeshift bedding. Since they didn’t have any tents, San hoped that it wouldn’t rain again, but it seemed like he was the only one worrying. He busied himself building a firepit with the discarded stones. He could hear Wooyoung’s high pitched laughter behind him and hoped he’d stay occupied with Yeosang. It wasn’t that he wanted to avoid the younger boy. He just wasn’t sure how to act around him. Something was shifting and San, as demonstrated earlier, was having trouble keeping his balance.

After San started the fire with a few sparks from the flint, Seonghwa came over to set up a makeshift spit roast out of branches he found. San sat back and let him work.

“How are you holding up?” Seonghwa asked, while cleaning and deboning some fish.

It took San more than a moment to register the question was directed at him. “Um, good, I guess?”

Seonghwa paused, raising one sculpted brow, questioning San’s uncertain tone. Rather than press for a more definite answer, he tried a different approach. “I’m honestly surprised you’re still here. These haven’t been our best days.”

“Well, I wasn’t my best when you found me, so,” San whispered, rubbing the back of his neck.

That earned a small amused smile from the older man. “I suppose you’re right.” A groan of frustration from the captain off to the side immediately drew Seonghwa’s worried gaze. Hongjoong had been sharpening his sword, but threw it and the whet stone down, deciding instead to take a walk.

San expected Seonghwa to go after him, but he simply turned back to prepping dinner. “How long have you two known each other?” he asked before good manners stopped him.

Seonghwa blinked, then shook his head. “Entirely too long.”

“Is the captain going to be okay?”

“He will be,” Seonghwa answered, as if trying to convince himself. “The new hair is nice.” He nodded toward San.

San had nearly forgotten, a hand reflexively combing through his long strands. “Thanks,” he breathed, remembering Wooyoung’s fingers on his scalp. When he returned to the present, he noticed Seonghwa’s watchful gaze on him like a parent catching a child in a lie. No gaze of his father’s had ever made San feel so vulnerable.

“It’s okay, you know?” Seonghwa said.

“Huh?”

“To be scared.” He offered a faint comforting grin.

San wasn’t sure what to make of his cryptic words, but he also didn’t have time to. A pair of arms threw themselves around San’s shoulders, a body leaning heavily on his back.

“Sannie,” Wooyoung called in San’s ear, startling him, “let me help you,” he finished, softer.

“With?” San turned to ask, which may have been a mistake given how close Wooyoung was, chin resting on San’s shoulder. Their noses almost brushed, but San pulled back just in time.

“With your hand.”

San had been trying to ignore the burning raw skin this whole time, but he guessed he hadn’t done as good a job as he thought.

Wooyoung detached himself from San’s back and sat cross-legged in front of him. He pulled out the small, blue porcelain jar Soobin had given him. The fresh eucalyptus scent overpowered the sweaty plant smell of the jungle. Wooyoung took San’s wrist, thumb pressed to his pulse, and used his other thumb to rub light circles into San’s palm.

San winced from the sting but didn’t pull away. Rather than focus on the pain, his eyes wandered to Wooyoung’s bowed head, wondering how soft his hair was. A dense, rolling feeling in his gut kept his hand to himself. Seonghwa’s words drifted back to him. What was he afraid of? It felt like trying to capture a cloud in a jar or a butterfly in his curiously frantic grasp.

Wooyoung looked up, deep, kohl-lined eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “All done. Better?”

San nodded, distrustful of his motor skills at the moment.

Eventually, the captain returned and joined the crew for dinner, frustration having simmered down to a resigned bitterness. Conversation was occasional and quiet. Suddenly, Mingi slapped his thighs, arresting everyone’s attention. “Idea,” he announced. “Since we have to face our pasts, why don’t we just tell each other now?”

“Great idea,” Jongho agreed, sarcasm tinting his rare enthusiasm, “Who’s first?”

They all looked around at each other; no one spoke.

Jongho looked at Mingi as if his point was proven. “I have a better idea.” The blonde rummaged through his sac and pulled out a large glass bottle full of dark brown liquid.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Hongjoong jumped up, checked in all of a sudden. He wasted no time snatching the bottle, flicking the top off, and flipping it upside down, taking huge gulps.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa warned.

Instead of acknowledging his concern, Hongjoong just went over to his first mate and pushed the bottle toward him. “It’s our last night before they all possibly hate me, so drink up, Hwa.”

Seonghwa analyzed him carefully, processed his words, then took the bottle. He took one long swig, wiping his mouth and coughing afterward.

Watching the captain unravel put everyone on edge, but after the bottle was passed around the air eased up. San hesitated when the bottle reached him. He’d never had alcohol before and only saw his father sip during dinner parties. He gripped the bottleneck, staring into the dark liquor.

“You don’t have to,” Yeosang assured him.

“Yes, he does,” Hongjoong called, voice already unnecessarily loud and a bit slow.

“You hush,” Seonghwa said, slapping his hand over the red-head’s mouth.

San braced himself, counted to three, then drank the hot, bitter liquid—one, two, three gulps. He choked from the way it scorched his throat.

The crew erupted into cheers. The bottle made the rounds until Jongho was arm wrestling Mingi, Yunho was dancing to music nobody could hear, Yeosang was cheerily clapping along, and Hongjoong was getting rather handsy with Seonghwa’s hair and clothes. Surprisingly, Wooyoung stayed sitting next to San, laughing at Mingi every so often. His usual energy calmed to a soft contentment.

The more the night waned on, the more Wooyoung slumped into the log he and San sat against. San felt both distanced from the chaos and hyperaware of Wooyoung’s arm against his.

Across from them, Seonghwa groaned, giving up and dragging a whiny Hongjoong, until they disappeared into the black depths of the jungle. Yeosang whooped his approval, thanking the stars Seonghwa would finally calm the captain down with some good dick.

San busted out laughing, thinking Yeosang would be the absolute last one to make a dirty joke. Yeosang continued, “They are _insufferable_ when they haven’t fucked for a while.”

Jongho snorted, face beet red. “Yeah they are.”

“Remember nightmare week?” Yunho piped up.

Yeosang pretended to gag, sticking a finger down his throat. Mingi drew his knees to his chest, shaking his head back and forth. Wooyoung giggled, amusement not as convincing.

“What’s nightmare week?” San asked, even though the tiny voice that hadn’t yet been drowned by alcohol told him he shouldn’t.

Yeosang stood in front of the fire, flames outlining his figure and adding to the drama. “We’d been sailing for a while, maybe a couple months. Everybody was tired, but the captain and Seonghwa were at each other’s throats for some reason.”

Yunho jumped in. “Then one night, we didn’t see them at dinner.” Horror widened Yunho’s glossy eyes. “We went below deck to turn in for the night, but…”

“They were so loud,” Mingi muttered.

Jongho shuddered.

“We spent the next few days sleeping top deck,” Yeosang said. “Then they had the nerve to act like they didn’t scar all of us for life.” He kicked the ground, deeply offended.

“You weren’t there before they got together,” Yunho said. “The sexual tension actually made me sick.”

Jongho added, “Glad they stopped fighting the obvious.”

The crew nodded in agreement.

Wooyoung stood, mumbling a quick “Be right back,” before stumbling through the trees.

San watched him go, his abruptness odd and a little concerning. Yeosang watched too, then caught San’s eye. “You should go make sure he doesn’t fall in a hole somewhere.”

“Me?”

Yeosang sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, you.”

San pushed up from the log and stood on unsteady feet. It felt like he was back on the ship the way the ground rocked and shifted. He blinked a few times and went after Wooyoung, using the trees to hold himself up. “Wooyoung?” he called into the night. He didn’t lift his feet too high, nervous that he’d trip over a tree root again or step into the hole he was supposed to be making sure Wooyoung didn’t fall into.

“San?” he appeared from behind a tree on the left. “What are you doing?”

The moonlight peaked through the thick canopy of trees, white winks in the black evening. What San could make out of Wooyoung’s expression was a puzzle he was having trouble piecing together. “Yeosang told me to check on you.”

“You’re just doing what Yeosang told you?” Wooyoung crossed his arms.

“Yeah,” San answered, confused as to why the other looked annoyed.

Wooyoung murmured something beneath his breath and started walking away.

“What?” San hurried after him. “What did you say?”

Wooyoung marched on.

San grabbed his shoulder.

Shaking away from his loose grasp, Wooyoung pivoted and snapped, “I said, ‘You always just do what you’re told.’” His voice echoed through the empty jungle. Regret lifted his brow, melted his harsh lines. He turned and kept walking to who knew where. “Forget it.”

“No, stop,” San called after him, a heated, fierce feeling blooming in his chest. He didn’t know how, but Wooyoung struck a nerve he didn’t quite know what to name. He felt hurt and upset, dizzy and hot. “Stop.” He caught Wooyoung’s wrist in his hand, pulling the silver-haired boy to face him. San’s breathing came in quick, irritated huffs. It was hard to focus with the rum buzzing through him, but Wooyoung’s eyes searched his own for…something. San wished he’d just come out with it and stop messing with his head. “What do you mean?” he asked, keeping his tone low and measured.

“Nothing.” Wooyoung looked away but didn’t try to remove his wrist from San’s grip.

“I don’t always do what I’m told,” San whispered. His pulse pounded in his ears, as he watched the way Wooyoung licked his lips. San let go of his wrist, took his face in his hands and smashed their mouths together. It was clumsy, bumping noses and teeth. After San registered what he’d done, he snapped out of the haze, stepped away, eyes wide.

Wooyoung looked worried by San’s rash reaction. He stepped forward. “What do you want,” he whispered, nervous.

He was so close San could taste the liquor on the breaths between them. San was still scared, still dizzy, still a little pissed, but he knew the answer before the question was even finished.

“What do you want?” Wooyoung repeated.

San took his face in his hands again, gentler this time, and leaned in. “This.” He pressed his lips to Wooyoung’s, pulled away. “You.”

Angling his head, he deepened the kiss—slow, curious, easy. His muddled mind tripped over itself comparing his many fantasies of this moment to the reality of it. None of them held a candle to the real thing.

Both Wooyoung’s hands gripped San’s shirt to steady himself.

Seeing as they were both irredeemably drunk, San used what little sense he had left to maneuver them against a tree. He pushed Wooyoung by the hips against the trunk, drawing a gasp from the smaller man. San took the chance to dive into an open mouth kiss tasting all the bitter liquor on Wooyoung’s tongue with his own. He cupped Wooyoung’s jaw, rubbed his thumb across his cheek, before running his hand through his hair. Despite being damp from the humidity, it was just as soft as he’d imagined.

Wooyoung tugged on the hair at the nape of San’s neck, pulling his head back.

San stifled a reluctant groan that turned to a satisfied sigh, when Wooyoung started planting kisses on his throat. Keeping one hand on Wooyoung’s hip and another against the tree above his head, San tried to keep his balance despite the overwhelming sensations popping like canons in the pit of his stomach. Wooyoung sucked the skin on his shoulder, nipping the spot with his teeth before licking it gently.

San winced from the honeyed pain, knowing it would leave a mark. When he felt Wooyoung’s thigh nudge against his groin, drag slow and teasing between his legs, and his cold fingers glide across his stomach, San grabbed both his wrists, pinning them above his head. “Wait.” San’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Resting his forehead against Wooyoung’s, he swallowed, licked his swollen lips. Looking up, Wooyoung didn’t fare any better.

His eyes were blown out, unhinged, his hair a mess, bruised lips quirked in a reckless smirk. He looked San in the eye, tipping his brow, as he swiped his tongue across his teeth.

What demon had San just released? Something in his chest strained to match his bold, electric energy, to fulfill both Wooyoung’s and his own desire until they were both wiped out, satiated. How much he craved that pleasure both surprised and terrified him. It was a charged terror that raced up his spine. The jungle floor probably wasn’t the best place to explore these urges though. That much he knew, even in his current state. “You’re crazy,” San exhaled.

Wooyoung laughed. “I just like you… a lot.”

Those words felt so childish compared to what they’d just been doing, but they were so undeniably _Wooyoung_ San couldn’t help but smile. “I…I like you too.” He kissed him, just a peck, but Wooyoung chased his lips and pressed a slower, more thorough kiss to his mouth. San let go of Wooyoung’s wrists, then intertwined their fingers. “We should get back to camp. The others are probably wondering where we are.”

Wooyoung pouted, scoffed. “Doubt it. They’re probably passed out.”

“Maybe.” San tugged him to stand straight up, started leading them back to camp. They’d have time, San thought. Time to explore and study and memorize every piece of each other, time he wanted to cherish, even if the way Wooyoung’s eyes stripped him down without removing a single article of clothing petrified him. He knew those were fears he had to get over; he knew his growing feelings made him want to get over those fears. It would take time.

San chanced a glance at Wooyoung’s profile, saw the content smile he wore, and just hoped with everything in him that Wooyoung would be patient with him during that time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil crack, a lil spice hehe. This chapter was hella fun, because I just got to write ATEEZ as ATEEZ, being their usual silly selves as well as develop the romantic B plot. Let me know what you think by leaving comments and kudos!
> 
> Also, I'm getting to the point where I'm trying to guesstimate how many chapters this will end up being. I'm not 100% for sure but it'll probably be no more than twenty. It's just matter of pacing, so I'll keep y'all updated. :)


	8. Where Water Mirrors Sky

San woke with a pounding headache. His mouth felt dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper. Luckily the cloudy sky was a soft heather grey, easy on his sensitive eyes. Upon trying to move, he discovered a heavy something holding him down. San lifted his head as much as he could to find Wooyoung’s cheek pressed to his chest, his arm thrown across San’s middle, as he slept without a care in the world. He looked a lot younger, a lot more innocent in his sleep and San could help neither the faint smile that pulled at his lips nor the heat in his cheeks as fragments of last night started to filter through his sleepy mind.

San dropped his head back to the ground, rolled it to his right. He almost yelped when he noticed Yeosang wide awake and staring at him.

“Took you long enough,” Yeosang whispered.

“What are you—”

“Don’t give me that.” Yeosang rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’d have to be deaf, dumb, _and_ blind to miss the way you two are around each other.”

San blinked, but kept quiet, unable to deny Yeosang’s keen observations.

“Take care of him, okay?” he continued, talking as Wooyoung’s closest friend now. “He needs someone like you.”

“I will,” San promised, resting his hand on Wooyoung’s back as if to seal his words. Wooyoung stirred, then nuzzled closer, still asleep. San turned his gaze back to the sky and hoped it’d be blue again by the time this was all over.

***

When San woke again, the crew was busy packing up camp. Well, everyone, except the captain who was stubbornly pretending to sleep while Seonghwa shook him to get up. Hongjoong groaned dramatically, sitting up and snatching the canteen of water from Seonghwa’s hand. Jongho was cleaning Yeosang’s wound, then finished by rubbing the salve over it and replacing the bandages.

San looked at his own hand and was surprised to find that the raw skin had already healed over. The evidence of the rope burn didn’t disappear completely, but the resulting callouses were faint.

Yunho threw some twigs and leaves over the fire pit, while Mingi rolled up his bedding.

“Morning,” came a light voice on San’s left. San turned toward it to find Wooyoung busy wiping his gun down with a tattered cloth. They smiled at each other and for a moment everything else faded away. For a moment, San forgot where they were, why they were there, where they were going.

“Hey!” Hongjoong called. “That’s enough sleeping. Let’s go.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes at the captain’s hypocrisy, but San got up nonetheless.

Once everyone was packed, they continued their journey through the jungle. The deeper they went, the thicker the greenery got, a stark contrast to the dingey monotonous grey of the port town. Even though the sky was nothing but a dense layer of clouds, the humid heat made everyone’s clothes stick to them. San brushed his hair back, took another swig of water from the canteen that was getting passed around.

Wooyoung slapped the back of his neck and swiped in front of his face to stave off the swarming mosquitoes. He cursed and whined and Yeosang told him to stop being a baby.

San laughed at them, but almost ran into Jongho before realizing the group had stopped. Hongjoong was at tree, tracing his fingers across a carving in the trunk. It was a crescent moon tucked inside a semi-circle with several sharp sun rays shooting from its bottom half. His hand curled into a fist. He kept walking and the group followed.

After a couple hours, the gurgling sound of a rushing river filled the cavernous silence. They crossed, hopping from rock to boulder one at a time. San was the last to leap to the bank. His foot slipped on the mud, but Wooyoung’s hand was right there to catch him. “Not on my watch,” he said. It was meant as a joke, but San warmed at knowing that day he nearly drowned felt so distant now.

The jungle opened to a clearing that was a lusher, more vibrant green than the rich dark hues they’d grown used to. The temperature dropped to a chilling degree and the pressure from the specter visit on the ship returned, faint but uncomfortably there. The clouds deepened to a charcoal grey and thunder growled low in the distance.

That’s when San saw it.

On the top of a hill sat a small cobblestone cottage that was more creeping ivy than stone. It leaned to the left, seemingly rooted to the ground as if it too had been there as long as the jungle.

Everyone froze, staring up at what would hopefully be the remedy to their troubles. Seonghwa squeezed Hongjoong’s shoulder and together, they led the crew up the hill. The closer they got the heavier the atmosphere weighed. San had to focus on his breathing, so he didn’t pass out. The hill wasn’t on a terribly steep incline, but it felt farther than it appeared as they climbed.

Before Hongjoong could knock on the door that had the same sun-moon symbol etched into its wood, it swung open as if by a gust of wind that none of them felt. Collectively, the crew swallowed, tightened their grips on their bags and braced themselves to file through the dark entrance. San was the last one in and just as he stepped over the threshold, the door slammed shut.

Mingi looked as if his eyes would pop right out of his head. He rushed over to the door, yanked on the handle, but it didn’t even budge. They had no time to observe their surroundings before a blinding flash of white lightning flooded the interior through the windows. Then skull-rattling clap of thunder drowned everything in black.

Mingi screamed. The captain shushed him, but San was sure they were all suppressing their fear of not being able to see anything. Another flash of lightning made them all turn to the back-left corner where a solitary table appeared.

Yet another flash and the orange-haired woman from earlier materialized, sitting at the table with an unreadable glint in her eye. The room went dark again.

San felt a hand grasp his own. He squeezed it back. His heart pounded so hard it pulsed in his head like an earthquake trapped in a bottle.

A snap of someone’s fingers echoed louder than the storm against the stone walls. Hundreds of candles they hadn’t noticed before began lighting themselves around the room, until the space glowed a warm honey gold. A sickeningly sweet herbal scent mixed with the thick smell of rain permeated the air. As their eyes trailed around the room and landed back on the table, three other women all in black dresses had also appeared with their orange-haired sister.

One with a sweet face and rich purple hair sat at the table. Another with straight black hair and dark, smoky rouge around her narrow eyes stood to her left. The last with full silver waves and delicate features leaned against the back wall.

“It’s been quite a while, little one,” the one with purple hair said, smiling though her lips were tinged with a gentle sadness.

To San’s surprise, she spoke the same language as them.

“We have a request,” Hongjoong stated, straightening his stance.

“Again?” scoffed the one with black hair. Seonghwa stepped forward, but Hongjoong raised his arm to stop him. She smirked and raised her chin as if daring Seonghwa to challenge her.

“Siyeon, please,” warned the woman with purple hair. “What is your request?”

“We need a mirror.”

Siyeon laughed, the high, mocking sound bouncing over the tense atmosphere. She snapped to seriousness, gaze sharp. “Jiu, come on,” Siyeon slammed a hand on the table, placed the other on her hip, “turn these children away. A waste of time then and a waste of time now.”

“A mirror,” Jiu said under her breath, eyes falling to her folded hands, stunned and pensive.

“Please,” Hongjoong implored, voice wavering. “Our shadows are loose and we’re willing to do what we have to do to face them.”

“That’s not the issue,” the silver-haired woman spoke up. Her tall, slender figure rested against the wall, arms loosely crossed over her stomach.

“Yoohyeon, you don’t have to,” Jiu said, reaching a hand out to comfort her.

“No,” Yoohyeon straightened up, “he needs to understand exactly what he’s getting into, since we apparently weren’t clear enough last time.”

Hongjoong tensed. “I didn’t ask you to—” he cut himself off.

“You didn’t have to,” Siyeon said. “Your intent was enough. Handong was almost burned at the stake for your cowardice.” She placed a protective hand on the orange-haired woman’s shoulder.

Hongjoong’s hands clenched into fists and San wondered how long it’d be until he finally blew up.

“Even now,” Handong started, voice calm, “as you say you’re done running, you deny the truth of what happened.”

“I’m trying to—” Hongjoong started to yell but paused. “Wait, you speak Korean?”

“I was protecting myself back then.” She laughed bitterly. “We know what good that did, don’t we?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer. The crew shifted uncomfortably. As the conversation progressed, Hongjoong’s past started to make less and less sense. His words from the night before hung heavy in the air. _It’s our last night before they all possibly hate me._ Where did they go from here if they couldn’t acquire a mirror? Would Hongjoong’s past sins condemn them all?

San spoke up. “What’s the issue?”

All four witches’ stares turned to assess the new voice.

He pressed on, aware of the crew’s eyes on him too. “You said our willingness to face the shadows isn’t the issue. It’s the escaping after, isn’t it?”

Jiu and Yoohyeon shared a look. Yoohyeon nodded. “It’s easy to get trapped, because mirror passages are always changing,” she explained. “It took me seven years to find my way out.”

“There were other factors, though,” Jiu added, hesitant. She closed her eyes, lips pressing into a thin line, as if chewing over a decision.

“Jiu,” Siyeon cautioned quietly.

“We had to seal Yoohyeon in a mirror to exorcise a spider demon from her spirit.”

Siyeon’s and Handong’s winced at what could only be a painful memory.

Jiu went on. “The mirror is a strong partition between this and the other side, sharp as a butcher’s cleaver. We didn’t know the separation would keep her memory on this side. We were careless. _I_ was careless.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” Yoohyeon assured her. “And I’m here now.” The look of confliction and regret on Jiu’s face melted to one of relief.

San threaded his fingers through Wooyoung’s, hoping to gather the courage he needed even though both their hands trembled. “If this is more of a reconciliation of our two selves than a separation, would we run those same risks?” he asked.

Jiu blinked. “I’m…not sure. I mean the risks would probably drop significantly since you’d have all seven of us watching over your bodies.” She looked off to the side, chewed her thumb as she considered various outcomes.

“You can’t be serious,” Siyeon interrupted. “So, what, we’re just going to help them? Just because?”

“Not just because,” San spoke before he knew better. “I can offer you money.”

Siyeon regarded him with understandable suspicion given his state of dress.

San swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t call his bluff.

“Safety,” Hongjoong interjected, finding his voice again. “We can offer you safe passage to the island of White Whale. The naval academy, which is essentially the ruling power there, started a magic arts division; the people there are progressive. They won’t harass you like the ignorant animals here.”

The witches exchanged looks with each other. Siyeon crossed her arms, still reluctant and skeptical. Jiu spread her hands over the table and took a breath. “We need the night to prepare,” she said finally.

Hongjoong’s shoulders fell and San exhaled a breath along with the rest of the crew he didn’t know they all were holding.

Jiu continued, standing, “Please wait here while we prepare space for you to rest.” With that, all four witches disappeared, leaving behind that same black mist as before.

The storm outside dissipated, brightening the space until they could finally get a good look at their surroundings. Along with the candles lined up against the walls and on the shelves, countless plants of different sizes littered the floor and windowsills. There was a floor to ceiling bookshelf to the right on the back wall that looked like it would collapse if one more book was placed on it. Various colored rugs and tapestries covered the rough wood floor. Several bundles of dried flowers and rusted wind chimes hung from the ceiling.

While surveying the ceiling, San wondered where they’d sleep. From the outside it looked as if this cottage only consisted of the one room they were standing in. However, stranger things have happened, so he assumed his question would be answered soon enough.

“Seven years?” Mingi shouted suddenly. He dropped to a crouch, fingers tugging at his midnight blue strands.

Yunho kneeled beside him, rubbing his back and whispering small comforts loud enough for only Mingi to hear. But that didn’t calm him in the slightest. “Seven years?” he repeated. He looked up at the captain, eyes wide and crazed. “Did you know?”

“What?” Hongjoong’s brows knit together, somewhat offended. “Of course not.”

“How do you know them anyway?” Mingi demanded.

“I told you. I grew up here. I ran into them when I was just a boy.”

Mingi stood. In two steps he was right in the captain’s space, forcing him to look up to meet his eye. Hongjoong didn’t flinch as he maintained eye contact. Seonghwa looked ready to step between them. Yunho raised his hand to stop Mingi but withdrew before he could.

“But that’s not it,” Mingi said. “It’s way more than that.”

“Mingi, stop,” Yunho tried, touching his shoulder.

“No.” Mingi jerked away from Yunho’s grasp. “It’s probably his fucking fault we’re in this mess to begin with.”

“We don’t know that,” Seonghwa said.

“But he won’t deny it,” Mingi pressed.

Everyone waited. They waited and prayed, desperate for the captain to deny it.

Hongjoong said nothing.

Mingi’s nostrils flared; his fists clenched. Instead of the hit everyone felt coming, he simply turned and walked out the door. Yunho chased after him, calling his name. A choked sob escaped someone’s throat and they turned back to find it had come from the captain. Even Seonghwa was left stunned, not knowing how to react.

The rough grating sound of wood scraping against wood cut through the crew’s disarray.

A young woman with full cheeks and bright eyes stumbled out of the opening from behind the bookshelf. She coughed, waving a hand in front of her to get rid of the cloud of dust she unsettled. Tucking her pitch-black hair behind her ear, she smiled, but her smile fell once she picked up on the taut energy in the room. Her cheeks flushed a hot crimson. “Um, your rooms,” she pointed behind her, “they’re ready. Just, uh, just follow me.”

After a moment, Seonghwa started walking toward her, snapping the rest of the group to attention. They followed soon after. Through the corridor behind the bookshelf, there was a set of stairs to the right leading to a basement. Torches bolted to the wall lit their way.

“We used to hide many of our sisters here in these bunkers, if they made the mistake of passing through this Isle,” she explained to no one in particular.

San was still processing the last hour or so. As was everyone else in their silence. 

The long hall they arrived at had rooms on either side; San counted five on the left, four on the right, enough for each of them to have their own space. It may be for the best. Even though it broke San’s heart, right now, close quarters could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. A spider web-thin fracture was expanding by the moment between them and San hated the familiar chill of solitude that settled on his skin. He tried to quell his anxiety, but before he knew it, they were splitting off to their individual rooms.

The young woman told Seonghwa that her name was Gahyeon and she’d return with supper later, then brushed past San to climb the stairs. San started to say something, he didn’t know what, to Seonghwa.

The older man turned his tired eyes to San, effectively making him swallow whatever he was going to say. “You should get some rest,” Seonghwa said. He entered a room on the right, across from the one Hongjoong went into on the left.

“Okay,” San muttered to himself, left in the hall, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Dreamcatcher! It was so much fun writing them, especially since I'm a fairly new Somnie. I hope I did the girls justice, but I especially loved writing Siyeon's character in this. (side note: It's best if you imagine them in their Red Sun special clip outfits.)
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think with kudos and comments.
> 
> Also, heads up, keep an eye on the tags. I'm still editing and may nix some things, so I thought I'd let y'all know although it won't be anything too drastic. Don't worry too much. :)


	9. In These Still Waters

San stepped into the first empty room on the left. It was bare—cold, gray walls, a packed dirt floor, a patched-up cot covered with a faded quilt. He dragged his feet and lied down, curling in on himself. Before he even felt the urge, his face was wet with tears, falling without ceremony. His body shook as he gripped the worn quilt between trembling fingers. The pain was dull, throbbing in the center of his chest. He didn’t make a sound.

San hadn’t cried like this since his mom passed. His father had gone on with business as usual and expected San to do the same. Grief was a difficult maze to navigate at five years old, which is why San had slipped into the pool. Without having the vocabulary to articulate all of his feelings, the only thing he knew for sure was that he felt outside, distant, detached. He slipped and the shock of suddenly being forced to breathe woke him up from his numbed state.

That was the thing. When he was numb, he craved the serrated edge of feeling. Even if it hurt, he wanted to know he was still alive. When the pain did come though, so excruciatingly raw that it would sometimes drive him to vomit, he wished to be numb again. It was a cycle without hope of healing that took intentional decision to break and not fall back into the comforting embrace of.

He felt its familiar arms engulf his aching heart, beckoning him to give up and give in. A sob ripped from his gut. Was this all there was for him? Sadness, isolation, restless wandering? No. He covered his ears and willed himself to take deeps breaths. He only set off a new round of tears, crying until sleep snatched him away.

-

A woman hummed some sweet tone in his ear while caressing his hair. San breathed in and out, not wanting to leave whoever’s lap he was in. The cool scent of lavender and rose surrounded him.

Something cold dripped on his cheek. A few more drops and he opened his eyes to see his mother’s deathly pale and hollow face above him, haloed by the impossibly bright sun. She was drenched wet in a thin white dress that did little to hide her violet-blue skin. Seaweed tangled in her limp hair. A black liquid spilled from the corners of her dry lips.

She stopped her soft caresses, wrapped her bony fingers around San’s throat, squeezed. San clawed at her hand, tried to scream, but his voice was nowhere in him. She only smiled, revealing ink-stained teeth sticking up from blue gums like little gravestones.

_Bang!_

A hole appeared in her forehead, smoke filtering through the perfect circle. Her eyes rolled back; her body fell forward, draping over San.

San scrambled out of her lap, crawling away across the brown grass. Behind his mother stood his father, pointing the gun. He blew the smoke billowing from the pistol’s barrel, tucked the weapon back into his vest. He smoothed his clothes, turned, walked away, not paying San a passing glance. As he left, the Aurora crew appeared next to him, walking with him.

San tried to call for them, reached out until his shoulder threatened to break from his body. None of them acknowledged his cries. Then Wooyoung looked over his shoulder. It was then San regretted calling for them. The look of disgust on Wooyoung’s face punched San in the gut. He choked, unable to breathe.

-

San sat up, clutching his heaving chest. He gulped and ran a hand over his sweaty forehead, through his sweat-soaked hair. He blinked a few times to settle back in the present. Being underground in this small room didn’t help slow his heart, so he stood and opened his door. On the floor was a wooden bowl filled with brown broth and onions and mushrooms floating in it that he was sure had long gone cold. He set it inside his room, before climbing the stairs to the ground floor.

It took a bit of coaxing, but he was able to slide the bookcase over. Stepping outside the cottage, he relaxed almost instantly as the fresh air invaded his lungs. A balmy mist hung in the air, not quite raining; drops clung to his heated skin. The sky exhaled in endless watercolor, blending the gentle indigos and muted ceruleans with the thread bare cotton clouds. San felt so small standing on that hill under a sky so grand.

He strolled a little ways down the hill, until he almost ran into a seated Hongjoong. He looked small too, bent over his drawn-up legs, chin resting on his knees. “Please, Hwa,” he said without turning around, “I said I’d come back in a minute.”

“Sorry,” San said, although he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.

Hongjoong looked over his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. His usually lively hair, hung in damp, faded red curtains framing his face. He hastily wiped at his eyes, but the truth was already out there plain as day. “What,” he said, voice brittle, “come to tell me you hate me too?”

The captain was in a sorry state. San took a seat next to him and ignored the open surprise on his face as he did. “I don’t hate you, Captain. Neither do the others. I think…” he splayed his fingers in the grass, “I think we’re all just scared.”

“I know,” he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “I fucking know. _I’m_ fucking scared.”

San didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say, really. So, he just watched the clouds drift lazily by.

“I’m supposed to protect you all,” Hongjoong murmured. “What kind of shitty captain am I? Can’t even keep his crew calm.” He picked up a stone and chucked it as far as he could with a grunt.

“It’s not your fault,” San said, still staring at the sky. “All of this.” He gestured vaguely. “Like they said, we’re all running from something. We’re all just fucking cowards.” The swear felt slippery on his unpracticed tongue, but it carried the bitter heat he felt was necessary. 

Huffing, Hongjoong slouched over his bent legs again. “Yeah.” He looked much younger than usual, the uncertainty softening his features. “So,” Hongjoong started, peaking at San, “you and Wooyoung?”

San tried to hide the way he choked on his spit behind a cough. He drew his knees to his chest, hid his heated face in his arms as he nodded.

“Good luck.” Hongjoong chuckled dryly.

“I’m going to need a lot more than luck,” San said, words muffled by his arms.

“Why do you say that?”

After a moment, San turned to find Hongjoong’s curious gaze trained on him. He didn’t expect the captain to actually be waiting for an answer.

Hongjoong tugged on his ear, a bit embarrassed. “Just humor me, will ya? I may not be perfect like Seonghwa at this stuff, but I know a _little_ something.”

San rubbed his hands over his arm, chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t know, I just, I’ve never done any of this before.” San studied the horizon, as he tried to gather all his tangled fears and melty feelings into words. “I’ve never been close to anyone. I’ve wanted to. When I was back with my father, that was _all_ I wanted. But I think I really just wanted someone to hide in, to not feel alone anymore. When we were, um,” he blushed, trying to find the right phrasing for their jungle activities, “kissing,” (God, he felt like a child), “I couldn’t just hide anymore and that scared me.”

Through all his stumbling, Hongjoong listened diligently. After some time, he spoke, “There’s no room for bullshit, when you love someone.” He said it matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes ahead. “Opening up, being honest hurts like hell; there’s no way around it, though.” He sighed. “You spend so long pretending to be someone you’re not that it gets comfortable. Then someone rips that mask away, offers you a place to break completely. But what do you do if they don’t like what they see, if they leave after?”

Hongjoong stretched his legs out, leaned back on his hands, his expression wistful. “But what if they love you anyway? Broken, difficult, hurting. What if they love you in spite of all that?” He shook his head, a slight smile pulling on his lips. “It’s fucking insane is what it is and the best damn feeling in the world.”

San felt the palpable radiance coming off him in waves.

“It’s worth it, all worth it,” Hongjoong finished. A tear fell from his eye that he quickly swiped away. “Damn it,” he exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m supposed to be comforting you.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I messed up,” he said, more to himself. “I’m going to fix things.”

San wasn’t sure if he was talking about things with Seonghwa or the crew or their situation, so he didn’t say anything.

Hongjoong stood, squeezed San’s shoulder. “Just talk to him, okay? Before you end up a sorry mess like me.” He gave a wet laugh and San nodded, grateful.

San stayed on the hill for some time, watching the treetops sway, relishing what felt like being in the center of the world. Finally, he got up and went back to the cottage, made his way back to the basement and hoped he remembered correctly which room Wooyoung was in. He wavered between the room next to his and the room on its right. He didn’t know which door to knock on let alone what he’d say if Wooyoung did answer. He couldn’t keep being scared, though, so he raised a fist to the door next to his.

Arms wrapped tight around his waist, nearly making him fall forward. “There you are,” came a voice against his back. San turned around in the arms that held him. Wooyoung’s eyes were big with worry. “I went to check on you, but you weren’t in your room and nobody had seen you leave, so I started freaking out. I’m probably overreacting but things have been fucking crazy and—”

“I’m here,” San whispered, cutting Wooyoung off with a gentle hand cupping his jaw.

Wooyoung leaned into the touch. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I had a nightmare, just went to get some fresh air.”

“A nightmare? What about?” Wooyoung poked out his bottom lip, knit his brows together, instantly disarming San’s defenses.

San felt it in the way he was being held—carefully, patiently. He felt it in the way he was being looked at, the way he was being _seen_. His heart raced, but he felt he could break here and be okay.

Still unsure of where Wooyoung’s room was, he led them to his own and lied on the cot with Wooyoung settling on his chest, head tucked under San’s chin. He idly dragged his right hand up and down the center of Wooyoung’s back, while his left played with Wooyoung’s fingers.

“It was about my mom,” he started, voice low. “I hadn’t had this dream since I was a kid, but she’s holding me, rubbing my head in her lap. It’s her drowned corpse though. My dad shoots her in the head and walks away. That’s how it usually goes.”

“Did your…” San felt the words press into his chest. “Did your dad kill your mom?”

“I never saw her die.” San was only told that she’d drowned in the river behind their estate and that the funeral would be the next day. It was a closed casket ceremony. He didn’t ask and his father never told. Although his father’s cruelty was quiet and unwavering, San wasn’t sure if he was capable of murder. It was a question he never found the strength to ask, since he didn’t know if he’d be strong enough to hold the answer.

Wooyoung drew lazy loops across San’s palm, intertwined their fingers again and squeezed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s enough that you listen.” San squeezed back. In the quiet, he heard Wooyoung sniffle. He raised his head. “Hey, what is it?”

Wooyoung just shook his head and wrapped his arms around San. “My dad… died two years ago,” he whispered. He went on, after taking a shaky breath. “I never got to say goodbye either, never even knew he was sick. We weren’t talking. Now, the reason we were arguing seems so stupid. _I_ was stupid.” The ragged tone of his voice told San he was trying his best not to cry.

San ran a hand over his hair, tucked the silver strands behind his ear. “But your mom’s still alive?”

Wooyoung nodded. “I write as often as I can, send back the reward money from jobs.”

“Well, that’s not stupid.”

“I still feel guilty.”

“I know.” San stared at the ceiling, thinking of when he spent countless nights coming up with the many ways his mother’s death was somehow his fault. “It never stops hurting, not really. The periods between the good and bad days just get longer.”

Being with the crew, with Wooyoung especially, gave him more good days than he’d had since living with his father. Still, San didn’t feel Wooyoung completed him. Instead, he felt revived, like he could discard the old pieces and be the him that felt so unattainable before. “Young-ah,” he started.

“Hm?” Wooyoung turned his head, rested his chin on his hands. Though shiny with unshed tears, his eyes were bright and curious, probably wondering where the sudden nickname came from.

San continued, “I…like you a lot, more than I know what to do about. I don’t want you to think I regret what I did. I just…don’t know how to handle all the feelings and…reactions you bring out of me.”

“Reactions?” Wooyoung scrunched his nose at San’s understandably poor choice of words. He didn’t tease him though, didn’t even look like he wanted to. He sat up, straddling San’s waist, hands spread on his chest.

San swallowed, taking in the view and feeling those reactions he was talking about. 

“So, just tell me,” Wooyoung leaned down, kissed the corner of San’s mouth, “when it feels good, when it doesn’t,” a kiss to his nose, “your good days and bad,” a kiss to his forehead, “tell me everything.” He slotted their mouths together, inhaled as if all he ever wanted was to breathe San’s air.

San gave all he could, until his lungs protested.

Wooyoung sat back up, so they could both catch their breaths, both already tipsy from one kiss. San’s head felt like it floated to the ceiling and his vision closed in on nothing but Wooyoung. This was exactly what San was talking about. One kiss and he was ready to topple kingdoms, sail through storms, devour the dangerous boy on top of him.

“Good?” Wooyoung asked, still panting.

“Perfect.” San tugged on his shirt, pulled him down until their mouths crashed again. San fought against the fears that told him he didn’t deserve this, didn’t even deserve wanting this. He fought against the fears that told him this wouldn’t last and that somehow, he’d wake up back at the estate, colder and more alone than ever. San focused on the secure warmth and weight of Wooyoung on top of him, the electric sensitivity of every point of contact between their bodies. For the first time, San followed his instincts.

San held his face and tilted his head, pulled on Wooyoung’s bottom lip, until he drew out a weak moan. He dived into Wooyoung’s open mouth with his tongue, exploring all the places he was determined to memorize by taste. They traded wet, open mouth kisses that only heightened the thrilling sweet heat in the bottom of San’s stomach.

Wooyoung sucked on San’s tongue, slow and deliberate.

San swallowed a whine and Wooyoung giggled, before doubling his efforts.

Slowing suddenly, Wooyoung kissed him gentler than he ever had, as he stared into his half-lidded eyes. Wooyoung smiled. “We don’t have to rush, okay?” he whispered, rubbing the tips of their noses together.

San breathed a feather-light, “Okay,” in response. He felt like a cup of water on the brink of overflow. Surprisingly enough, his heart didn’t race. The way Wooyoung looked at him was like a tether that kept him from floating into waters infested with doubt and fear. Placing his finger under Wooyoung’s chin, San drew him down for a kiss. “Thank you,” he said and felt Wooyoung hum and smile against his lips.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, laughing quietly. “It makes me feel like a prostitute.”

San blanched. “Oh. What should I say then?”

Wooyoung settled back down to lie on San’s chest, nuzzling under his chin. “You don’t have to say anything,” he yawned, “but ‘I love you’ works too.”

San would’ve missed the last part if it wasn’t so quiet in the room, but he kissed the top of his head and whispered those words he never thought he’d say. They slipped easily into a restful sleep—exhausted but content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some down time after last chapter's rollercoaster. I so so enjoyed writing Hongjoong and San's conversation, cause Hongjoong whipped and wise even if he doesn't know how to show it all the time, which same lol. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed as always! Leave comments and kudos to let me know what you think. Thank you so much for the support on this story so far. I really appreciate it!
> 
> Find me on Twitter if you want to chat or scream about comeback teasers! XD
> 
> Twitter: @angeltiny13


	10. Shadow Waters

An insistent knock at the door woke San and Wooyoung in the morning, or what they assumed was morning given the lack of windows. Wooyoung grumbled and rolled off San, intent on not getting up until he absolutely had to. San stretched his arms above him, before rising to answer the door. He only opened it a bit, conscious of Wooyoung shamelessly sprawled out on the cot just behind him.

It was Jongho, who looked like he hadn’t gotten much rest. “They said everything’s ready.”

The fear and anxiety returned like freezing water pooling around his ankles. San nodded, mouth suddenly dry. “We’ll be up in a few.”

Jongho’s brow rose along with the corner of his mouth. “We?”

“I mean—” San sputtered.

Jongho laughed a hearty belly laugh that echoed down the hall, surely waking anyone who was still sleep.

“I didn’t—What I meant to say was—”

“Please,” Jongho interrupted, wiping a single tear from his eye, “save it. The entire crew already knows. Way before even you, I’m sure.” He winked before stepping back and heading toward the stairs. “Don’t take too long,” he threw over his shoulder.

San dropped his head and shut the door.

“Smooth,” Wooyoung quipped.

“Shut up.”

***

When they emerged from behind the bookshelf, everyone’s eyes shifted their way. Of course, they were the last to show up to make matters worse. San sighed and simply took the empty seat on Yeosang’s left at the long wood dining table. Wooyoung sat on San’s left, earning identical pointed looks from Hongjoong and Seonghwa who sat next to each other at the head of the table. Jongho sat on the other side with Mingi on his right and Yunho on his left.

Mingi slumped in the high back chair, eyes focused on the table. Although he was more resigned than yesterday, he was still unsettled. Who could blame him? There was nothing any of them were certain of other than how much they weren’t certain of.

Handong entered the room through a door on the back wall that hadn’t been there the day before, and San had to wonder just how big the cottage actually was. She carried a bamboo tray stacked high with white porcelain saucers and teacups. Jiu followed in after with a teapot, steam billowing from its spout and filling the room with a thick flowery scent.

Handong set a saucer and cup in front of each crew member, but they were all distracted by the ruckus coming from the door. A cacophony of women’s voices cascaded down the stairs.

“Sua, will you slow down?”

“It’s not my fault Gahyeon’s taking her sweet time.”

“I’m not trying to trip and break every bone in my body, thank you very much.”

“Carry your end properly and that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I swear to Satan if you two don’t stop, I’ll break both your bones.”

Jiu flinched, worry widening her eyes. She went to check on the chaos. “Ladies, please.” Before they could argue, she raised a decisive hand, and said, “Just make it down here with yourselves and the mirror in one piece.” She stepped away.

Siyeon and another woman with deep brown waves filed out first, carrying their end of the ornate rusted gold mirror. The other end was carried by Yoohyeon and Gahyeon, whose knees wobbled under the weight. Following them was another young woman with short chestnut hair and an aloof expression.

“Dami, you weren’t helping carry?” Jiu asked her.

“I had to carry the book,” she said, lifting said book up with one hand for emphasis. The other four glared at her as they propped the mirror up against the wall. Jiu looked a bit helpless and San thought their little coven was eerily similar to their own dysfunctional family.

Siyeon slid the heavy curtains over the window and a snap of her fingers lit all the candles. Jiu strolled around the table, filling each crew member’s cup halfway with tea.

San examined the muted amber liquid, taking note of the lavender and white petals and the other herbal dregs that floated around in it.

Mingi scrunched his nose. “What’s this for or are we just having a tea party?”

Jiu returned to the head of the table, before answering, “It’s a tea to help you all relax.”

“Yeah, but what’s in it?” Mingi pressed.

“Forty-year-old toad eyes and our spit,” said Siyeon, smirking. She rolled her eyes at Mingi’s affronted reaction. “We’re not those ridiculous characters they paint us as in children’s tales.”

“No, we’re way too pretty,” Sua added, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Now, while my sisters’ teasing is a bit harsh,” Jiu said, scolding Siyeon and Sua, “we do need you all to trust us. The tea consists of chamomile, lavender, valerian root, and lemon balm. The more relaxed you are, the easier it’ll be for your energy to flow, which will help you pass through the mirror.” She smiled at Mingi, ever so sweet and forgiving.

Hongjoong cleared his throat. “Before we begin, may I?” He looked at Jiu as he asked, but it was more directed at the crew.

She nodded, giving him the floor.

He pushed away from the table and stood. “I know I haven’t been…the most honest, when it comes to my past.” His gaze bounced over every member but lingered on Mingi before continuing. “It’s just hard to talk about after I’d spent so long trying to forget. I thought we could all forget our pasts on the Aurora, just keep sailing and never worry, but that was a coward’s dream. And it’s come to bite us in the ass.”

San watched the captain struggle to push forward despite the turmoil evident in his shifting eyes and the hesitance in his fidgeting fingers. Seonghwa kept his hands folded on the table, letting Hongjoong handle this on his own as the captain.

Hongjoong leaned forward, pressed his hands to the surface. “I grew up in an orphanage, never knew my parents. Conditions were…less than ideal—no meals sometimes, beatings were regular.” His jaw clenched; he kept his eyes down, as he chose each word carefully. “The nuns that ran the orphanage sometimes hired us out to the obsidian mines. Treatment there was worse.”

No one looked at him. No one could bear to see their captain as anything other than what they knew him to be—resilient, sharp, a force to be reckoned with, not some abused, terrified child.

“One day, after a shift at the mines, I got separated from the group on the way back to the orphanage. It was dark, I was scared. I tripped and dropped my lantern. The jungle floor caught fire. That’s when…that’s when Handong found me.” He raised his head, meeting her unwavering stare. “I told her I didn’t deserve to die, but knew who did. I wanted them gone. I couldn’t breathe from the smoke, didn’t care anymore. She spoke mandarin, then in broken English, asked...if that was my wish. I said yes.”

His hands formed fists. “Guess I should’ve been more specific.” A weak, paper-thin laugh stuck in his throat. “She led me back to the orphanage. Holding her hand, I watched it all burn down with everyone in it. Who we thought was everyone anyway. One of the nuns saw us and had Handong hunted for witchcraft by the townspeople. They were more focused on her than some pathetic orphan. I ran. I didn’t know what else to do.”

His eyes were red now, voice ragged with remorse. “Once I saw they tied her to the stake, I escaped to port, stowed away on a boat, and never looked back.” The few tears that escaped stained the ancient wood. “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

“You were a child,” Handong said, expression still placid, “but that’s not what you feel guilty for, is it?” It was a challenge, not a taunt.

Hongjoong’s shoulders slumped under the pressure of holding back more tears. “No,” he muttered. “I feel guilty, because I _don’t_ feel guilty for my wish. I took those children’s lives because I felt they’d already been stolen by the very people tasked to take care of us. I didn't see any hope for them, and had it not been for you holding my hand, I would’ve rushed to join them...once I realized.” He spoke the truth quietly, but with conviction, and it hung in the air—dense, irrevocable. “I…wanted to tell you all myself.” He sat down.

Mingi rubbed at his teary eyes. His head snapped to Hongjoong. “Captain, I—”

Hongjoong shook his head. “Don’t. You had every right to be pissed at me.” He looked each and every one of the members in the eye then. “I can’t say we’re family then keep secrets, lie to you. I can’t trust you with only _parts_ of my life when I owe you everything. I’m sorry.” He gestured for Jiu to continue.

She slowly set the tea pot on the table. “Confronting your shadows will require that same vulnerability. However, we have no way of knowing in what way you will be confronted. So, watch yourselves. I trust you have weapons?”

Everyone’s hands instinctively went to their hips or shoulders only to find themselves stripped. They all exchanged various looks of confusion. San hadn’t noticed an absent weight but saw the way Hongjoong regarded the coven with a suspicious look.

“No, I’m afraid we don’t,” the captain said, voice even.

“Spare me the evil eye. I have them,” said Siyeon, stepping forward. “I confiscated them when you first arrived. We don’t get too many friendly guests.” She clapped her hands in front of her chest, then held them out, palms turned up. As she closed her eyes and started muttering words none could understand, an intense purple glow surrounded her arms. All of their weapons dropped to the middle of the table with a loud, metallic clatter.

Each member snatched his own dagger, cutlass, or gun, glad to not be completely helpless anymore.

“Wait,” Wooyoung hesitated, “Aren’t we _not_ supposed to hurt our shadows?”

“It’s not your shadows you should be worried about,” Yoohyeon answered. “Any number of people from your past can manifest in the mirror, warped and dangerous, like a nightmare.”

Wooyoung nodded, gripping his shotgun tighter.

“Okay, so, kill the nightmares, face the past, find our way out,” Yunho said. “Sounds easy enough.”

“It’s not so straightforward that brute violence will save you every time,” Jiu advised.

“We’ll stay flexible,” Hongjoong amended quickly. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Jiu raised an incredulous brow. “We shall.” She held out her hand in which Dami placed the worn, black, leather-bound tome. Jiu pulled a long, thin chain from around her neck and inserted the key at its end into the large padlock on the book’s cover. She set her shoulders and held her head high. Her demeanor shifted from mild-mannered to an alluring yet intimidating authority. “Drink.”

They did. The tea slid down smooth, still hot despite the time that had passed. Surely, whatever magic they’d laced in it strengthened and sped up its effect. San felt his lids become heavy, his heart slow, his body droop almost instantly.

Though the window wasn’t open, a gust of wind blew around the room, thick and warm like bourbon. The windchimes rattled like harrowing metal bones. The flickering candlelight tossed shadows against the walls with reckless abandon. The witches’ lips moved, reciting silent incantations. Their eyes closed, as they formed a line and joined hands.

The gale storm picked up, lifting the book from Jiu’s hand, pages fluttering violently.

San sat straight despite how much his body protested. Soon, though, the urge to relax turned to pure exhaustion trying to fight it. Across from him, Mingi fell forward, faceplanting the table. Yeosang followed right after.

San couldn’t keep his eyes open, couldn’t fight the yawn that ripped through him. What felt like a hand on his shoulder coaxed him to lie his head on the table. Through his soggy slow mind, he agreed it’d be better than possibly breaking his nose by fighting until the last minute. He closed his eyes.

He opened them again and was sitting up. As was everyone else. He felt…hollow, light, unfettered. He studied his hands. They were neither pale nor translucent. Even though his body felt ghostly, his flesh was unchanged.

“Stand,” instructed Jiu.

Again, they did as they were told.

“Holy shit,” Jongho cried, stumbling backward.

One look down explained why he was so startled. They were standing but they were also still sitting at the table fast asleep.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung breathed, reaching out to touch himself.

“Don’t,” Handong warned, opening one chiding eye.

He jerked back.

The witches let go of each other’s hands, opened their eyes. The wind died down but did not disappear, only calmed to a weighted air that sat on the skin.

“So, we just walk through the mirror?” Hongjoong asked. He flexed his hand in front of his face, as if testing how solid this body was.

“Yes,” Jiu said. “We’ll watch over your physical forms until you return. Have a safe journey.” She stepped from in front of the mirror. The bronze candlelight cast a stark shadow over her face, highlighting the worry in her eyes.

The crew followed the captain, waited behind him as he examined the mirror. He tapped the reflective surface with one finger, and it rippled, buoyant like a silver pond. He reached his hand through and pulled it out, unchanged. Finally, he stepped one foot into the mirror, braced himself on the frame. Hongjoong threw an uneasy smirk over his shoulder. “See you boys on the other side,” he said, then dived in.

The crew jumped in after their captain with gritted teeth, clenched fists, and thundering hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is! Hongjoong's past. I was and am nervous about this and these next few chapters, since we're pretty much off to the races from here on out. I appreciate y'all sticking with me. I'll do my best ^_^ Let me know what you think with comments and kudos!
> 
> Find me on Twitter @angeltiny13
> 
> Look forward to the next chapter ;)


	11. This Side of the River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW // Things get intense, keep an eye on the tags. I'm going to up the rating too.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

San bolted upright, gasping for air. His lungs blazed with a familiar ache. How did he end up under water? He couldn’t have drowned, not with how shallow the water he sat in was. His clothes were soaked through, though, as if he’d been completely submerged.

He looked around, frantic, distressed, as his heart threw itself against his chest. The opal and teal mosaic tiles on the floor and surrounding walls glistened iridescent, practically mocking his delirium. He assumed he was back at his father’s estate, but the pool was deeper than he remembered. His body shook violently from the wet chill and the stark realization that he was alone.

San took a breath, stilled his nerves, and scraped the leaking barrel in his mind for some composure. He stood on unsteady legs and made his way to the wall on his right. Standing in front of it, it loomed a few feet higher than the top of his head. He wiped a hand across the slick tile and wondered how in the hell he was going to scale the wall and get out.

More importantly, where were the others? The witches never mentioned them being separated. Then again, they left out a lot of specifics. It was more a pat on the ass and good luck.

The sound of rushing water drew his attention to the left end of the pool. Like swift rapids dropping off a cliff, a deluge gushed over the edge. The puddle around San’s feet rose quickly.

He scraped at the wall, searching desperately for purchase, for some way out. He beat his fists against the wall, cried out for help.

A head of black hair peeked over the edge. San recognized the dimples, the small, pointed nose, the serpentine eyes that disappeared when they smiled. They weren’t smiling though.

“Hey, hi,” San spoke softly, so he didn’t scare the boy away. He frightened easy as a child. “Can you help me out, please?” He reached his hands up.

San’s younger self worried his bottom lip. His eyes flicked around, uneasy, never meeting San’s. “I don’t know if Father wants me to,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay. He said it’s okay,” San reasoned, feeling the water slosh against his mid-calf.

“But he didn’t tell me.”

“I know, I know, but he’d want you to do the right thing.” Even as he said the words, they felt wrong and rotten on his tongue. He knew they weren’t true and so did his younger self. Wooyoung’s words drifted back to him. “You don’t need to be told to do the right thing.”

The boy regarded him with wide-eyed suspicion. He shook his head and boxed his ears. “No, no, Father would tell me,” he screamed.

“No, he wouldn’t,” San retorted, discarding his soft tone. He’d handled himself with kid gloves long enough. “He doesn’t care about you, me, us.” The waves lapped at his knees, as he widened his stance. “Nothing you do can change that. No amount of obedience or silence. Not with him, not with anyone. Now help me up!”

The child startled, blinked, then scrambled to stretch his arms toward San.

San gripped his small hands, unsure if they’d be able to pull him. “Throw your weight back,” he called. He did and San attempted to brace his feet on the wall, but only ended up slipping. San didn’t have a chance to try again before the child’s grip went completely lax.

His arms hung limp over the edge, eyes wide open yet vacant. Blood spilled down the wall, deep scarlet trailing thin lines in the mosaic and dripping into the rising water.

San heard the squelch of pierced flesh and his stomach turned both from fear and nausea.

A figure in black squatted near the edge, lazily spinning the bloody dagger between his slender fingers. It tilted his head, considering San. Though its narrow, smoky eyes were shaded by the brim of its hat, its gaze was no less penetrating.

Looking into his own eyes was unsettling, wrong, like staring at a slanted picture frame. There was no doubt that this was San’s shadow, but it was difficult confronting and accepting the refined ruthlessness stirring in those eyes this close. Did he really have the potential for such brazen cruelty?

“Weak,” it said, mouth covered by the leather mask. That one word came out shredded and raspy, like a wounded growl, as if its throat had been dried out and stripped.

San took slow, cautious steps away from the wall. He turned as quick as he could in the now hip-high water and rushed toward the other side.

The shadow disappeared and reappeared on the other wall, still squatting.

San stopped, but before he could think of another strategy, his shadow stood in front of him and landed a high kick to the center of his chest. San splashed in the water, trying to regain his footing despite how he sputtered to breathe.

The shadow’s gloved hands wrapped around San’s throat, pushed him under.

San scratched and screamed, swallowing a mouthful of the freezing saltwater. He was pulled up then dunked again. In a spasm of clarity, he snatched the cutlass from his hip and swiped at his shadow’s side. San felt the pain cut through his own skin, but his shadow’s grip faltered enough for him to get away.

San stood, pointing the sword at his shadow’s chest, heaving strained breaths.

It stepped forward.

“Stop!” San shouted, flipping the sword to point at his own stomach. The pool had long since turned a dark, murky red; the salt stung his shallow wound. He had to end this quick. He chewed on his tongue, wondering how in the world he would do exactly that. So, he started talking to himself, too desperate to hold anything back anymore.

“What? Scared?” San taunted. “Yeah, well me too. You can’t do anything to me without hurting yourself. I’m in control.” Taking a breath, he repeated, “I’m in control.”

His shadow stared—stiff, still.

“No matter how much I try to be who I think people want me to be they can still hate me,” he laughed bitterly, “for being spineless. And I hate that me too, the me that’s a piece of shit steppingstone, because I don’t care if they walk all over me. As long as I have their attention.”

The water came to his stomach now.

“What a sad, stupid way to live. I don’t want…” San’s voice cracked, on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to _be_ that way anymore. I’m not going to let that _control_ me anymore. So, stop being so fucking pathetic!” He was angry now. Angry that it took this long to realize, angry at how much time he wasted waiting for permission to live.

San heard the distinct sound of a gun cocking, noticed a familiar figure come into focus behind his shadow. Just as the gun went off, San tackled his shadow out of the way. Jumping back to his feet, he lunged forward and thrust the sword through his father’s heart with a raw, resounding shout. He pushed it through to the hilt, staring into his father’s black, apathetic eyes.

The tears fell, hot and quick, despite San’s adamant resistance.

A hand wrapped around San’s ankle, yanked him below the water. His head whipped around, searching for the culprit. The water was so dark now he could barely make out his own body. No matter how much he struggled he kept getting dragged further and further from the surface. His lungs squeezed with panic and lack of oxygen; his limbs burned from the strain.

It felt like he was still crying but it was hard to tell underwater. He was tired, so tired of drowning in water, in himself, in his own weakness and self-pity. His eyelids along with the rest of his body grew too heavy. His mouth opened and he let the water in.

The bottom of the pool fell out and San dropped on his back, landing on a bamboo mat. He gasped, a hollow, hoarse sound that he had trouble believing came from him. He rolled over, spitting up the water he swallowed until he dry heaved. As he regained his bearings, his surroundings came into focus. The ceiling above him was stained with several dark wet patches. Wherever he was only consisted of four yellowed, peeling walls, a space smaller than the witches’ cottage.

Rain beat against the one window to San’s left, but he could hear the rhythm more clearly. A chill froze the air, and a pitchy creaking filled the room. Though his body protested, San raised himself to his hands and knees. The worn door swung back and forth, barely hanging on its hinges.

Beyond the threshold was a man kneeling, body crumpled in on itself, shoulders trembling.

“Seonghwa?” San called. He crawled over until he reached him. Reaching out a hesitant hand, he rested it on Seonghwa’s shoulder.

The older man flinched.

“It’s just me. It’s San.”

The look on Seonghwa’s face almost made San break into tears of his own. Seonghwa’s lips quivered, eyes bloodshot and overflowing. Broken didn’t begin to cover the emotions strangling his features.

“Seonghwa,” San tried, caressing his shoulder to comfort him however he could, “what’s wrong? Have you seen the others?”

“I was too late again,” he muttered, voice destroyed from all the sobbing San was sure he’d done. “I, I was out and…I was too late again. It’s my fault.”

San didn’t want to pry. A part of him felt it wasn’t his place but another more cowardly part was just afraid to hear what could reduce Seonghwa to such a state. But he knew that they had to face these things, to speak the unspeakable.

The clouds, thick and dark like smoke, looked as if they’d drop from the sky with how heavy they poured. As the rain picked up to a deafening din, Seonghwa sat back and drew his knees to his chest. A low-pitched bell tolled in the distance, but its volume rose until it felt like it rang in their head.

Seonghwa covered his ears, rocked back and forth, mumbling a desperate string of _no_ ’s.

That’s when San heard what he was anticipating—the high whale of children crying.

_—Hwa_

_Seong…hwa?_

_Where are you?_

_Please…please…_

_Brother…_

San searched for where the voices were coming from. Though they spilled like bleeding ink from the open door, the house was still empty, so painfully, hauntingly empty.

“My fault,” Seonghwa repeated. He looked at San then, a crazed look in his eyes. “I should just stay here.”

“What? Seonghwa, no,” San rushed to convince him.

“I couldn’t protect them. They had no one but me and I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t protect you all either.” He spoke with a seriousness that terrified San. “Leave me here.”

San wished Hongjoong were here. Or any of the others. He just joined the crew. When it came down to it, he didn’t know any of them well enough to matter. He doubted anything he had to say would be able to convince Seonghwa how invaluable he was to him, to the crew, how much he held everyone together when everything was falling apart.

The sound of mud squishing underfoot grabbed both their attentions. A shadow approached the house, head bowed, hands tucked in the pockets of its long black coat. When it reached the porch steps, it raised its head, pinned Seonghwa with a smug look.

San’s hand flew to his cutlass, ready if Seonghwa’s shadow decided it didn’t care if either of them lived.

“What now?” Seonghwa asked his shadow, tone caustic, bitter. “Am I just supposed to admit it wasn’t my fault, that there was nothing I could do, that I should just let it go and move on?” His voice rose, grief boiling to anger. “Well, it _is_ my fault. I wasn’t there, but we needed the money. We were going to starve. What was I supposed to do?” He buried his head in his hands. “Starving would’ve been a better end for them.” A new rush of tears fell.

San felt sick.

Seonghwa’s shadow wore a twisted smirk as he watched Seonghwa shatter.

San knew he was powerless, the realization paralyzing. He couldn’t help if Seonghwa didn’t want to help himself, especially if he’d already been avoiding confronting these memories for so long. He cursed his own inadequacy but pushed forward anyway, for Seonghwa’s sake.

San shook the older man’s shoulder. “Seonghwa, I’m not going anywhere without you. The crew’s not going anywhere without you. We need you. Hongjoong needs you.”

Seonghwa’s gaze widened, as if he remembered something important. “Hongjoong…”

The sound of waves and seagulls rose above the rain; beyond the muddy patch of a yard appeared a dock. Two younger men stood at its end. Despite the mussed brown mullet of one and the smaller figure of the other, San recognized the captain and first mate as the boys they were before those titles. The memory was a still frame, hazy like a watercolor painting, though the wind whipped their hair and clothes.

“You can’t stay here,” San whispered, desperate.

Seonghwa, entranced by the manifestation, didn’t answer him. “Why?” That one word was but a breath on the breeze.

The younger Hongjoong turned and answered, “Because I need you.”

Seonghwa gasped, taken aback. “B-but I failed. How could you…?”

San interrupted, “Let’s find your Hongjoong so you can ask him yourself.”

The memory evaporated into a multicolored mist. In that same moment, Seonghwa’s shadow charged at them. San shoved a dazed Seonghwa out of the way, drew his sword.

The shadow’s angered gaze snapped toward them as it tried to pull its fist from the hole it punched in the porch.

While San knelt between the two, he said, “We can’t get out of here without you. I can only stall, but _you_ have to deal with this.”

To his surprise, Seonghwa answered. “How did you get here?”

“I fell through the ceiling?”

“What?”

“I really don’t know. I was fighting my shadow, then I killed my father, or my shadow father? Anyways, I fell through the bottom of a pool and ended up here with you.” Although San’s back was turned, he was sure he could feel Seonghwa’s deeply confused stare on him. “Got any ideas based on that?”

After a moment, Seonghwa said, “There’s nothing I can do.”

“What?” San glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to keep an eye on the shadow. “No, there has to be something. We can’t just—”

“No, I mean there’s _nothing_ I can do.” Seonghwa stood, walked over to his shadow, who recoiled like a caged animal.

San still didn’t understand but he watched, nonetheless.

“My sisters, my brother—Dasom, Hyerin, Chul,” he spoke their names in hushed reverence. “They’re dead. Whoever did it took everything we had as well as their lives. There was nothing I could do to stop it except be there and I wasn’t.” He took a shaky breath. “I wasn’t there, and they died. I can’t change that.”

Slowly, he dropped to his knees. “Staying here would only make history repeat itself. I couldn’t be there for them,” he turned to San, “but I can be there for you all.”

The rain stopped. The turbulent air stilled. All sound was sucked from the space in an instant.

A patch of yellow appeared in the mud, then spread with a rush. Soon, they were surrounded by an endless field of bright yellow chrysanthemums that rolled like waves in the breeze.

Seonghwa’s eyes closed, gently, as if he was listening, finding comfort in the quiet.

The weightless song of a child’s laugh flowed toward them, touched their skin like sunshine.

He smiled, as tears streamed down his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I forgive myself.” The breeze tossed his hair, like a gentle pat on the head.

A faded roar whirred from inside the house. The door slammed against the wall, finally breaking from its hinges, as a raging swarm of bright blue butterflies flushed out. They were like a frenzied tornado, surrounding San and Seonghwa who fought to keep their eyes and mouths closed. San had never heard the beat of butterfly wings so loud before. They sounded like a hive of hornets.

Then, it all stopped.

The overwhelming whir was replaced with the familiar sounds of a village town—chickens clucking, mules whimpering, wagon wheels over uneven dirt roads. San and Seonghwa found themselves in the middle of one of those quintessential roads, but none of the villagers paid them any mind. They both kept their heads down, startled and shaking from the sudden environment change.

“Seonghwa! San!”

They turned to see Hongjoong running toward them, eyes wide and misty with relief.

Seonghwa, choked on a cry, stumbled to his feet and rushed toward him, nearly tripping. When they reached each other, Seonghwa lifted his captain from the ground, arms wrapped tight around his waist. Hongjoong clung to him, head buried against his neck.

San waited until after they separated and exchanged whispered words, before he rose to meet them.

“Where have you been?” Hongjoong asked them.

Seonghwa looked to San to start. “I faced my shadow, then fell into Seonghwa’s shadowscape, and now we’re here.”

“I wouldn’t be here without San.” Seonghwa placed a grateful hand on San’s shoulder, looked him in the eye. “Thank you, really.”

“We need you; I couldn’t just leave you behind.”

“We need each other,” Seonghwa amended.

“Plus, I would’ve kicked your ass,” Hongjoong interjected.

San didn’t know whose ass he was threatening, but it didn’t matter. Hongjoong’s serious tone softened as he looked to San. “I really appreciate it.”

San shook his head, smiling. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Now, please tell me you’ve had as rough a time as we have,” Seonghwa said. “San had to shoot his father, nearly drowned _again_. I had to relive that- that _day_ over and over.” His voice was lightly exasperated despite the weight of the scenes he was relaying.

Hongjoong blinked, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, actually no. I’ve been here the whole time, looking for everyone.”

“Wait,” Seonghwa looked around, “isn’t this where Mingi’s from?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong nodded, “but we only met Mingi at port. I have no idea where or what exactly he was running from.”

“Does that have something to do with it?” San directed everyone’s attention to a pillar of smoke rising in the middle of a forest some ways away.

Hongjoong sighed. “One day this crew’s gonna have to stop playing with fire.”

They set off toward the forest, somber but determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! I'm so so sorry for the wait! >_< If you didn't see on my other fic, my computer broke and I got locked out of my cloud and it took way longer to resolve than I thought it would. Thank you for being patient.
> 
> As for the chapter, what do you think? I know it's real sad, but I had a fun time writing this world. Let me know with comments and kudos. See you soon! :)
> 
> If you wanna chit chat, find me on Twitter @angeltiny13


	12. Breathless Brooks

As Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and San made their way through the forest, they’d discussed more specifics of what they’d each gone through. Hongjoong explained how he’d woken up in the middle of that road just like Seonghwa and San but hadn’t encountered his shadow. He was searching for the other crew members but none of the villagers acknowledged his presence. They were like cattle milling about, going through menial tasks like actors in a play.

Seonghwa suggested that maybe he didn’t end up in his own shadowscape because he’d already confessed his past to the crew.

Hongjoong wasn’t so convinced, twirling his dagger absentmindedly in his left hand while his right rested on the hilt of the cutlass attached to his hip. 

San’s hand ghosted over his own sword, his father’s lifeless eyes flashing across his mind. In the quiet of the forest, the adrenaline from earlier started to fade. San wondered if that was his first time…killing someone. Did it count if it was merely a projection? Would he have done the same if it wasn’t? Did it matter? San was real, and his actions were real. Did it really matter if the person on the other end of his sword was real too?

Something in his stomach lurched, making him swallow quickly. He forced himself to breathe. 

“San?”

San looked up, realized Seonghwa and Hongjoong were a few feet ahead of him, staring with concern. 

“You need a minute?” Hongjoong asked.

San shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong shared a look, not bothering to hide their blatant doubt. They walked back over to him. Seonghwa spoke first, “A lot’s happened in a short amount of time, or maybe it’s been longer than we realized. I’m not sure how time works here,” he admitted, sighing, “but either way, it’s a lot to take in.” He squeezed San’s shoulder, prompting the younger man to meet his eyes.

San didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but it was as Seonghwa described—a lot. The pit of his stomach felt thick and hot and swirling. A thin film of cold sweat covered his forehead. He watched his hands shake, studied the callouses that had developed on his palm. “I’ve…” he whispered, “I’ve never killed anyone before. It happened so fast.  _ I  _ did it so fast.”

“You were scared,” Hongjoong soothed. “You were protecting yourself.”

But he wasn’t, he was protecting his shadow, which he supposed was still…him, in a way. It was going to take some getting used to, accepting that his shadow was as much a part of him as whatever else he considered made up “San.” 

He felt pathetic, as he looked to Hongjoong. How many lives had the captain seen the end of? San hadn’t ever thought too long about what the crew did before he got there, before all of this. The stories they told centered more around the light mishaps they encountered on their journeys. He figured lamenting the less savory details didn’t make good campfire tales. But he still remembered the knife on his throat, his arm being twisted, the gun at his chest. How many weren’t as fortunate as San to make it away virtually unscathed?

As soon as the thought arrived, it made him sick. He trusted these people. Now was probably the worst time to be considering the direction of their moral compass. 

Hongjoong’s mouth tightened to a thin line as he watched San. His jaw flexed, chewing on his words before he spoke. “I understand you’ve never had to…make tough decisions before. And you’re not always gonna make the right one, but once you choose, you have to stick with it.” Placing his hands on his hips, he kept his eyes down and dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. “There’ll be plenty of time for regret later. Trust me.” 

“Do you?” San asked. “Regret anything, I mean.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “When I left the Isle, I had to do whatever I could to survive.” He looked up again, eyes burning with a hard-won conviction. “Do I regret what I did to do that? Every day. Do I regret wanting to stay alive? Never.”

And San believed him. Though he could never understand having to fight for food and shelter, he understood fighting to live. While he was busy self-loathing, Hongjoong was busy self-preserving by any means necessary. They were both cast vastly different lots in life, but neither Hongjoong nor Wooyoung (or any of the crew for that matter) ever made San feel his struggles were any less valid than theirs. 

So, San arrested his doubt and reminded himself what he knew all along—here, with his crew, his  _ family _ , was where he was supposed to be. It didn’t matter what challenges lied ahead or tough things San would have to do, they’d be right beside him the whole way. They all had their shit, as Wooyoung so eloquently put it. 

“Thank you,” he said to them both. Even though he could specify, it felt pointless. No amount of thanks could cover all the small ways they’ve affected him.

The gentle, reassuring smiles Hongjoong and Seonghwa wore were enough to show they understood, just like they understood San from the beginning. It wasn’t constricting, like they had San figured out, but like they knew what he needed most was the freedom to figure himself out. They allowed him that freedom. 

Hongjoong squeezed San’s upper arm, while Seonghwa patted his head. San chuckled, feeling like their child. 

They continued trekking through the forest, following the thickening air, although the distinct smell of burning was absent. And despite the time that passed, the sun didn’t move from its high perch in the sky. As they got closer, they started calling Mingi’s name. Occasionally, they called the others on the off chance that they ended up here too.

The trees became more and more sparse, the terrain uneven and rocky. The ground rose to a sharp incline and led them to a mountain. On the right was a dip that dropped off into a ravine Though there was plenty of space between the trail and the slope, San stayed as near the mountain wall as he could. Their little group kept close as they followed the well-worn gravel trail around the base, noting how the column of smoke curled around until it rose well above the peak. 

Being in the front, Hongjoong was the first to see what caused the dissipating grey cloud. It wasn’t smoke at all, but dirt and dust. 

San gasped, taking in the scene. A devastating rockslide blocked their path and what looked like an opening to the mountain. One boulder leaned against a splintered tree trunk, the top two-thirds of the tree likely in the ravine below.

“Mingi!” Hongjoong screamed, rushing toward the pile of rocks. He started trying to dig through, tossing stones of every size over his shoulder. 

San and Seonghwa hurried to help, Mingi’s name a desperate prayer on their lips. The heap felt endless, like no matter how much they removed only more rocks fell and filled the empty spaces. San ignored the way the jagged edges cut into his palms, the blood and dirt gathering under his fingernails.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa called, yanking the captain by his collar out of the way of a massive tumbling rock.

Hongjoong’s eyes were blown wide from nearly being crushed where he stood. He watched the boulder roll down the slope and listened for the splash as it dropped into the river. Turning back to stare at the mountain, his shoulders shook. 

Seonghwa exhaled, sizing up the rockslide. “There’s no way anyone survived this,” he whispered, afraid to even admit what they all knew out loud.

“But Mingi did,” Hongjoong snapped. “So, where the hell is he?”

San’s gaze traveled up the mountain, as he heaved a fearful breath. If Mingi sustained an injury, he wouldn’t have climbed up. His eyes slid back to the base, until they went down the slope leading into the ravine. “Wait,” he mumbled, walking over to the splintered tree. 

He wrapped his arms around the trunk, peaked over the edge. Rather than chaotic rapids, the river flowed with a determined purpose. It wouldn’t be impossible to float down, especially if you had a raft…or a log to hold onto. He turned back to Seonghwa and Hongjoong. “We should follow the river.” 

Hongjoong gave a solemn nod, the most fragile tones of hope gracing his face. 

Slowly, carefully, they step-slid down the steep slope. Once they reached the riverbank, they started calling for Mingi again, while they frantically scanned the waters. It was difficult to hear much over their yelling and the constant noise of the river. They listened for the slightest echo.

“Mingi,” San yelled, throat straining, heart speeding up with every moment of silence. He missed the tall ball of energy, his smiling face and commanding yet comforting presence. San couldn’t imagine there was a time when Mingi wasn’t this way, a time where he hurt so much he buried the pain and ran. A rugged noise broke San from his thoughts.

Their little group halted.

“Did you hear that?” Hongjoong asked. He cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice. “Mingi, where are you?” 

“Here— left— across the bank,” a familiar deep voice called back. 

They ran toward it, until they spotted Mingi washed up on the other side of the ravine, his limp body draped across the log that was caught in the mud of the bank. “Mingi, are you hurt,” Seonghwa asked, as gentle as he could with how he had to raise his voice.

Mingi shook his head, wet hair plastered to his forehead. His whole body heaved, likely exhausted more than anything.

“Okay, okay, good,” Hongjoong encouraged. He stepped as close as he could to the edge of the riverbank but stopped abruptly. They each shifted from foot to foot, looking around, unsure how they were going to make it over to him without getting swept up by the waters. 

San wasn’t too eager to risk drowning again but would if it meant keeping Mingi safe. They might be jumping ahead of things though. Getting to Mingi would mean nothing if he hadn’t faced his shadow. “Mingi,” San called, “have you seen your shadow?”

“No, I just…I escaped the rockslide like before, but I…” His eyes wouldn’t meet theirs.

“You have to tell us what happened,” Seonghwa said, words weighed down by reluctance. He knew how difficult this was, the pain of being thrown directly back into the fire you’d so narrowly escaped before. 

Before he could work up the courage, Mingi’s shadow emerged.

They froze, breath caught in their throat, powerless to do nothing but watch the scene unfold.

The shadow skulked toward a terrified Mingi. It bent down, snatched Mingi by the throat and held him in the air like he weighed little more than a rag doll. He yelped. Gritting his teeth, Mingi held tight to the hand around his throat, kicking his legs helplessly.

None of them carried a pistol or shotgun to at least cause a distraction. Mingi could only struggle as he refused to speak.

“Tell us what happened, or we can’t leave,” Hongjoong pleaded. He groaned, frustrated when Mingi still wouldn’t answer. He muttered something to himself, before bending down, tossing and catching a stone the size of his palm. He leaned back, winding up, then pitched it across the river with a hiss.

The rock hit the shadow square in its side, drawing its attention and an irritated glare. 

“Hey, are you both listening?” Hongjoong screamed, waving his arms. “I don’t give a fuck what you did or didn’t do. This crew still loves you no matter what.” His voice had a raw edge to it, rough from how much he meant the words.

Mingi shook his head and they saw the way he chewed his bottom lip, the steady stream of tears falling down his face. As his distress increased, the ground began to shake, until it became a full-fledged earthquake. 

The ground growled and trembled, bringing Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and San to their knees. San yelled, “We’re not leaving without you.” Soon, though, the earthquake upset the delicate balance of the rockslide and boulders started rolling over the cliff. They raced around, dodging each rock while also trying not to fall into the river. They had to keep an eye on the projectile assault behind them, the slippery riverbank, and Mingi. San’s heart caved in on itself, terrified that one misstep could mean his end.

A loud but weak cry ripped itself from Mingi’s open mouth. “I’m a coward,” he shouted, despite the grip around his throat. His shadow raised him higher in the air, but Mingi stopped kicking; he stopped fighting. 

“So am I,” Hongjoong answered.

The crew pressed themselves to the wall of the cliff, even though some gravel still landed on them. San sneezed from the excess dust in the air but tried his best to focus on Mingi’s words. 

“That doesn’t matter.” Mingi squeezed his eyes shut. He looked on the verge of whaling. “I lied to them, said I’d be back, said everything would be okay.”

“Lied to who?” Seonghwa prompted.

Finally, Mingi grunted, swinging his body back to kick his feet into his shadow’s stomach. His shadow buckled over, holding his stomach as his grip slackened enough for Mingi to pull away. Mingi scrambled, falling and landing on his back. He stood, still crouched low in case he needed to dodge another attack. “M- my mining crew.”

Even with this small confession, the water picked up its pace. It felt as if the very earth would split beneath them and swallow them whole.

“Keep talking, you’re almost there,” Hongjoong encouraged.

“I left, went back to basecamp ‘cause I forgot my helmet, but then,” he swallowed, “then there was an earthquake. I turned around but it had already…they were already, the rockslide trapped them in.” 

Mingi’s shadow approached him with measured steps. Mingi took his own careful steps backward. “I told them I’d go get help, but…I lied. There was no way they were getting out.”

“You had to,” Hongjoong tried, “There was nothing you could do.”

“I could’ve tried!” Mingi shouted, exasperated, angry. He cursed, but it clogged his throat as a new set of tears fell. “As I was leaving, I tripped, hit my head, blacked out.”

Mingi’s shadow charged at him, tackling him to the ground as it grabbed his shoulders. They rolled around, each fighting for the upper hand. The shadow landed a punch to Mingi’s jaw, then flipped them over so it could press his weight to Mingi’s hips. Its fist struck his jaw again and again, but Mingi only lied there and took it.

San was confused. Mingi’s confession should have stopped the earthquake, so what more could he have been hiding? “What else is it?” he asked.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong also started to plead for his honesty, for him to fight back, for him to accept what he’d done and get back up. The cacophony of their desperate cries and crashing rocks, the rushing river and trembling ground overwhelmed their ears, until everything sharpened to a high-pitched whistle. They covered their ears, but they could still hear Mingi’s final admission.

“I wish I didn’t wake up!”

Mingi kneed his shadow in the groin, grabbed its shoulder and threw it off. The shadow slipped on the muddy bank, scrambled for purchase before it fell in the river.

Mingi stood and approached his shadow, eyes soft but turbulent. “All those people… they had families, people who would miss them.” His hands curled and uncurled into fists. “All the people that gave a damn about me, they died in that rock slide. I didn’t have anyone else, so I thought- I always thought, why me? Why did I get to survive?” 

Hongjoong spoke up, “There’s nothing divine about survival, Mingi. Sometimes there’s no grand reason we get to keep living, we just have to keep living and hope we find the reason eventually.” 

Mingi dropped his chin to his chest, shoulders high and tense. He mumbled something but none of them could hear. 

The water came to a halt. The earth stilled.

Mingi lifted his head, stared at the three of them with shiny eyes. “I did. I found my reason.” A heavy smile tugged at his cheeks. “It’s you guys.”

San wanted nothing more than to be on the other side of the ravine and wrapping Mingi in a tight hug and never let him go. He thought Hongjoong and Seonghwa felt the same as he heard sniffles from beside him. 

With another thunderous rumble, the river swirled into a whirlpool as if being sucked through a massive hole. After all the water drained, it turned out there was a massive hole, a wide pit of endless black. 

San stared into it until it stared back at him. “We’re...not supposed to jump into that, are we?”

Hongjoong jumped into the river bed, making Seonghwa sputter. The captain picked up a rock and tossed it into the pit. They all waited for the echo of its landing, but it was several minutes before they gulped, only hearing silence.

“I’m not going in there,” Mingi said, adamant in his stance.

The captain pinned them all with an exasperated look. After moments of no one moving or saying anything, he sighed. “We have to go through here.”

“How do you know?” Mingi challenged.

“I don’t, but how else are we supposed to get to the next shadowscape?”

“He’s probably right,” Seonghwa muttered.

“Probably?” San yelped.

Seonghwa looked just as conflicted as San felt. “So far, this place has just thrown us wherever and now we have to make the choice to keep going. I’m no expert but a giant hole opening in front of us feels like the next step.”

Hongjoong pointed at Seonghwa. “What he said. Now come on, before another earthquake or something happens.”

Seonghwa joined Hongjoong in the river bank. Mingi groaned. San worried his bottom lip. Eventually though, all four of them stood at the edge of the pit, holding their breath. 

Mingi snatched San’s hand. Offering as much comfort as he could despite his own nerves, San squeezed his hand back. Mingi took Seonghwa’s hand too and Seonghwa took Hongjoong’s.

Hongjoong huffed. “Babies,” he mumbled.

“Oh, please,” Seonghwa cooed, “you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“No I’m not!”

San would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the way his heart throbbed in his throat.

“Let’s just go before I lose my nerve,” Mingi interrupted.

The captain counted down from three and they leapt over the edge.

The sensation of free falling sent goosebumps from the soles of their feet to the crowns of their heads, while the rushing air dropped to a chilling degree. San kept his eyes closed, ground his teeth, held tight to the warmth of Mingi’s hand. He felt lightheaded, like he’d pass out if he wasn’t so scared.

There was no way to tell when or where or how they’d land. They could do nothing but surrender and let the dark swallow them whole. 

-

San woke gently, as if from a summer afternoon nap, but the bone-rattling cold was anything but summer sweet. He blinked and where he’d ended up came into focus. He was seated in a wooden high back chair at a long polished cherry wood dining table. A lush spread of elaborate dishes—steaming, juicy meats, colorful, exotic fruits and vegetables, golden pastries, softly glittering desserts—occupied the table from end to end. The potent scents were so enticing San had to swallow the extra saliva pooling on his tongue.

He leaned forward and it was then he noticed his wrists tied to the arms of the chair. He struggled against the restraints, but it only seemed to tighten the hold. 

“The hell?” Hongjoong hissed from his left. Mingi also grunted, tugging against the ropes on San’s right. Seonghwa was seated on the other side of Hongjoong. 

Taking roll of the rest of those seated at the table, San came face to face with a finely dressed young man wearing a blank white mask just across from him. The masked man was flanked on either side by three identical men for a total of seven phantoms. At one head sat an older, maskless man with slicked back graying hair. At the other, sat a woman whose age was only given away at the corners of her eyes. 

The dining room consisted of stark white marble floors and deep red walls, covered in a varied arrangement of mirrors. Their infinite reflections revealed that every wall had mirrors hanging from it. If San stared too long, he got lost and dizzy. He kept his eyes on the man in front of him. They all behaved like the villagers from Mingi’s shadowscape—vacant, unresponsive. Their stiff posture only heightened the shiver running up and down San’s spine.

A grand crystal chandelier sparkled intimidatingly above them. The opulence of everything made San’s stomach flip. Even he had never come in contact with such luxury. The question on the tip of his tongue was answered, when the six phantoms turned toward the one in the middle in militaristic unison.

Slowly, he removed his mask. “What are you all doing here?” Yeosang asked, tone annoyed as if they’d interrupted dinner.

“Busting you out of here,” Mingi answered. 

“Didn’t know you were livin’ the high life, Yeo,” Hongjoong teased. He gave a low whistle, as he surveyed the room.

Yeosang crossed his arms and huffed. “None of this is mine.” Unable to hold his glare, his eyes dropped to the empty plate in front of him. 

The stormy look on his face tugged at San’s heart. He’d never seen him so visibly conflicted or uncertain. It was an odd thing, how much they had to rely on each other to get through this. How long would they be stuck if they had only their own self-deprecating thoughts to rely on? Would they have found the strength to leave on their own? Is that why it took Yoohyeon seven years to find her way out? Because she was alone? 

“What do you mean none of it’s yours?” San asked.

Yeosang flinched. 

Four of the masked men stood and marched around to the other side of the table.

Seonghwa cried out as one wrapped a white cloth around his head, gagging his mouth. Hongjoong snapped toward Yeosang, jerking forward, making his chair nearly tip. “What the hell is going on? Make them stop.”

“I can’t,” Yeosang said, voice watery. His wide eyes and arched brows made him look so young, so helpless.

“Wh-mmf!” Hongjoong’s protests were cut off by a gag.

Frantic, San spoke. “Yeosang you have to tell us what you were running from, tell us everything, don’t lea-” The thick, dry taste of cotton filled his mouth before he could finish, but he hoped it was enough. 

“Don’t leave anything out,” Mingi finished.

Soon, they were all silenced, unable to do anything more than wait and watch. San tried to convey his support through his eyes, but Yeosang wouldn’t look at them. 

The four men returned to their seats and dinner commenced. Various dishes circulated the table but Yeosang received a significantly smaller portion than everyone else. The clink of cutlery against plates and bowls echoed eerily in the large dining room. 

The woman at the right end of the table rose and went to stand behind Yeosang. She placed her hands on his shoulders, gingerly, as any mother would, but then her smile stretched her scarlet cheeks to an unsettling degree and her fingernails dug into Yeosang’s skin until he winced. 

Yeosang looked up, meeting San’s eyes in a silent plea, but what could San do but watch. It cut his heart deeper than the rope cut into his skin.

“None of this is mine but no one could know." Yeosang started. "I’m the seventh son, but I am only my father’s. Nothing but a bastard.” 

Everyone stopped eating. Their heads snapped to Yeosang. He swallowed under the attention. The endless mirrors and harsh light from the chandelier weren’t helping either. Yeosang was front and center, something, it appeared, he wasn’t used to or was taught to stray away from. 

“My mother, or the one who acted as my mother, hated me. If I kept my head down and followed in my brothers’ footsteps then she promised she wouldn’t throw me out. So, I did. I behaved. I stayed quiet. I went to White Whale Academy where the Kang family has been attending for generations. I have a talent for navigation, but that made me stand out too much.”

Yeosang’s mother morphed into his shadow, whose gloved hands still clung to his shoulders.

“Then I… Then I met Wooyoung.” 

As if summoned, the high, sharp sound of glass chimes interrupted the troubled boy’s confession. San’s eyes widened as he noticed a hand shoot out from a mirror behind Yeosang. 

Yeosang followed San’s shocked stare, turning as best he could with his shadow still gripping his shoulders. Wooyoung tumbled out of the large mirror, landing on his ass. He looked around with big eyes, taking in the scene. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys,” he shrieked, unbothered by the phantoms’ threatening stares. 

Yeosang’s shadow strode toward Wooyoung, snatched him by his collar.

“Stop!” Yeosang called, voice devoid of its usual bite, just desperate and scared. He tried to get up, but ropes appeared and bound his wrists to the arms of the chair like they had a mind of their own. 

San grunted to get his attention. He nodded in an attempt to tell Yeosang to go on with his story.

Yeosang looked back and forth between Wooyoung, his shadow, and San.

Thankfully, Wooyoung picked up what San was trying to communicate. “Yeo, whatever you were doing before I got here just keep doing that.” He held tight to the shadow’s wrists to loosen its grip around his collar as much as he could. “I don’t think it likes that I crashed the party.” 

Wooyoung and the shadow stared at each other in an intense stalemate, but it didn’t look like it had any intention of hurting him. If San risked a guess, it seemed more like Yeosang’s shadow couldn’t bring itself to hurt the silver-haired boy.

“I...” Yeosang’s mouth hung open, as he gathered his words. He kept his eyes on Wooyoung, then continued his story. “I met Wooyoung and he was going to White Whale because he wanted to, even though his parents were against it. Somehow, we became friends, but…” he bit the inside of his cheek, “I hated him. I hated how he didn’t take anything seriously, how he didn’t do anything unless he wanted to.” He admitted the secret, quiet but resolute, but it fizzled out in the air, having lost its convicted truth. 

Wooyoung’s look of surprise passed like nothing more than a glint of sunlight bouncing off glass. The hurt from the revelation was but a brief, blurry glare. Blink and you would miss it. 

“I’m sorry,” Yeosang whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

Wooyoung grew teary-eyed too.

Yeosang continued, “Running away with you was the best decision I’d ever made, because it was the  _ first  _ decision I’d ever made. But I- I was also running from all the hate and jealousy that ate at me, hoping I could just forget, hoping you’d never realize I’m a shit friend.”

“You’re not a shit friend,” Wooyoung rushed to assure him. “Even if you hated me, you never stopped being there for me, so I don’t care. It’s in the past.”

Another tear rolled down Yeosang’s face. He choked on a sniffle, willing himself not to cry, but failing. Moments of silence passed like a steady river.

“I love you,” Yeosang said quietly.

Wooyoung smiled. “I love you too.”

The phantoms evaporated into a thin mist of white, leaving behind their elaborate garments and blank masks. The ropes unraveled themselves from everyone’s wrists and the gags fell away. Before they could gather themselves though, a high creak was their only warning before the chandelier came crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient! How'd you like this one? I love reading your comments. They really do motivate me to keep going.
> 
> Hope you guys are doing well. Drink water as much as you can and don't skip meals. I love you. I don't know why I'm getting sappy but I just feel like that needed to be said. I really do appreciate you all. It's been a fun ride so far. Also, thank you so much for over a hundred kudos! See you in the next one! :)


	13. Float

Upon opening their eyes, the crew found themselves in another town, another outdoor market. This one was busier than all the ones they’d visited. The members were planted like a rock in a river, jutting out and disrupting the flow of the rushing crowd. The packed bodies and heavy heat in the air made it hard to take a full breath.

A man pushed through San’s shoulder, not even sparing him a backwards glance, like San wasn’t even there. Unlike the phantoms occupying the previous shadowscapes, these people regarded them with incredulous disgust. Some whispered beneath their breaths, their voices combining to a whirring cacophony that made San’s skin itch. If they weren’t aware before, the townspeople’s reactions made it blatantly clear they did not belong. 

“Any ideas?” Wooyoung asked the group.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa muttered, eyes downcast. He looked at Hongjoong who wore the same solemn expression. 

“We should search the alleys,” Hongjoong suggested.

They moved against the traffic, despite how it clustered around and pushed against them. Mingi took the lead, throwing elbows when necessary, fresh determination pinching his brow. He veered right at the captain’s prompting. At some point, they all linked arms so they could move faster without fear of leaving someone behind. 

Wooyoung squeezed San’s arm extra tight, tilting his head toward him with a warm smile. “Missed you,” he said.

For a moment, San forgot where they were. Wooyoung’s smile could do that. “Where were you- before you fell through the mirror?” San asked.

A light somberness washed over his face. “I had to climb the hill where my dad’s buried, but it was all muddy, took forever.” He rolled his lips. “My shadow tried to pull me down, but my mom was at the top, offering her hand. I think I’m…” his eyes flit around, nervous, “I think I’m gonna try to visit, when we get out of here.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” San offered. Wooyoung was lucky all his bridges hadn’t yet burned. He had a chance to reconcile, unlike the rest of them, who had nothing but skeletons to bury. San softened at the uncertain yet hopeful look in his gaze. 

The crew forged ahead against what felt like an endless sea of people. It overwhelmed and crashed against them as if they were back on the ship during the storm. Eventually, though, they emerged from the corporeal mass, stumbling into each other. On the outskirts, they were able to split and search the dark, narrow alleyways. Their pace was hurried, frantic, searching for the tall, energetic boy, which was probably why San had to do a double take when he raced past a crumpled figure pressed against a wall in the shadows.

He came to a halt, backtracked his footsteps until he stood at the mouth of the alley with the others.

Seonghwa approached cautiously. “Yunho,” he called, tone tender.

Meanwhile, the collective voice of the people rose like a choir. They chanted things that were difficult to distinguish—stops and starts of phrases like “your fault,” “mom isn’t,” and “hide and seek.” None of it made much sense to draw meaningful connections. 

Seonghwa knelt in front of the shaking boy, who was only an unrecognizable husk of who they knew him to be. 

Hongjoong stood near, but didn’t approach, as if resigned to let Seonghwa handle this. “We found him here, near starving, when he was fifteen,” he said quietly. “When we asked if he had a home, he just smiled, too bright for how weak he looked.”

“Yunho,” Seonghwa coaxed, reaching a hand out to pat his bowed head. “Yunho, why were you here alone? Did you- did you have a family?”

Yunho curled in on himself more, tightening his arms around his bent legs. 

The echo of boots against cobblestone alerted the crew to Yunho’s shadow stalking toward them from the other end of the alleyway.

“Hey!” Mingi cried.

Turning, San saw a townsperson yank Mingi’s wrist, before he felt a hand claw at his shoulder. He shook it off, sidestepping another swiping hand. One tugged at Wooyoung’s hair, another on Yeosang’s arm. The crowd was funneling into the alley and they tried their best to fend them off, throwing desperate, wide-eyed glances at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa turned his attention back to Yunho. He stroked his hair. “What happened? Talk to me.”

The captain went to squat next to Seonghwa. “Yunho, you gotta tell us what happened, or we can’t get out of here.”

His head popped up at that. “And it’ll be my fault?”

Hongjoong startled. “N- no, I mean—”

“I’m a burden. Always have been.”

“No,” Seonghwa soothed. “That’s not true.”

“It is! No matter how hard I try to be- to be happy and make  _ everyone  _ happy, I still just cause trouble, just another mouth to feed, just taking up space.”

“Who told you that?” Hongjoong asked, anger barely held at bay. 

“Everyone!”

“Not us!” Hongjoong spat back. “Now who lied to you, Yunho?”

They stared each other down—Hongjoong with righteous fury, Yunho with weak opposition posing as heated belligerence. 

From San’s left, Wooyoung let out a frustrated noise. There was only the brief click before a shot rang out in the alley. Everyone whipped around to see Wooyoung pointing his gun at the crowd, taking aim and shooting another in the foot. He tossed a worried look over his shoulder, gaging if it had any effect on Yunho or his shadow, but they only stared in shock.

“What?” he fussed. “The witches did say we’d probably need these” He held up his shotgun to support his point. 

“Okay, just hold them off,” Hongjoong ordered.

“Aye.” Wooyoung smirked.

San and Yeosang shook their heads, but drew their swords and worked to keep the mob back. Mingi landed a barrage of jabs to jaws and kicks to chests that made San shudder at the sickening sound of cracking bone. 

“Yunho, who told you that you were a burden?” Hongjoong asked, words clipped like this was the last time he’d ask nicely.

“My brother! That’s why Dad didn’t come back, why Mom kicked us out, why he- why he left me here.”

After moments of silence filled with nothing but the people’s manic muttering, Seonghwa spoke. “What do you mean didn’t come back?”

“He was a fisherman, loved the sea more than his family,” Yunho choked on the words like they were spoiled food.

“Doesn’t sound like you believe that,” Hongjoong said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Hongjoong countered. “You hate your dad for leaving but then you chase after him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I could forget how eager you were to join us when I mentioned we sailed?”

“That’s not wh—”

“What’s the truth then? Did your dad really walk out or is that just what your mom told you before she kicked you and your brother out because she was really the one who didn’t want you?”

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa warned.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Yunho,” the captain pressed, ignoring Seonghwa.

San ducked out of the way of a lunging body, while Yeosang drove his sword through the attacker’s stomach. San tried to focus on the conversation so he didn’t have to dwell too long on the sound of tearing flesh. He willed his body to move on autopilot. Think protect, not attack. He had to hold them off so Yunho had time to work through his past.

Of course, the more they faced their shadows, the more San realized that this wasn’t immediate healing. It was a diagnosis. They were exposing wounds they’d slapped a patch over, ignoring the blood spilling from their veins, killing them slowly—a gentle death mistaken for euphoric peace. Admitting these secrets brought an instant but temporary relief. The residual pain, however, still clung to them like the thick sludge of humid air. 

This was only the beginning.

“He was always gone,” Yunho started, voice watery. “Even though he knew she wasn’t taking care of us, he was always gone. Then, he didn’t come back. He said he loved us, so why?”

“I...don’t have the answer,” Seonghwa tried, “but he tried to provide for you and your brother. Maybe there was a storm or...complications or he really did leave, whatever the reason, you can’t blame yourself.”

San peeked over his shoulder to see the tears stream down Yunho’s face as he took in Seonghwa’s words. 

“It’s not your fault and you’re not a burden,” Hongjoong added, “You were a child.”

And that’s why they needed each other. To state the truths that were buried beneath all the lies they’d been told or told themselves, truths that seemed so simple, so obvious but were  _ so _ easy to overlook and deny. 

“Don’t fake happy for us,” Hongjoong said and it was the softest San had ever heard the captain.

Yunho fell into Hongjoong’s arms, sobbed over his shoulder. “They didn’t want me.”

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Seonghwa soothed, as he rubbed firm circles on the weeping man’s back. “They don’t matter, not anymore.”

It was a peculiar sight—Yunho crying, not so much the tears but the heavy sadness behind them. 

And to everyone’s hidden surprise, Yunho’s shadow simply stood and watched, face unreadable beneath the brim of its hat. 

The townspeople slowed down, not backing down, but not losing interest either, swiping at them half heartedly and zombie-like. They clustered together, blocking the mouth of the alley. 

A resounding boom put everyone on high alert. They soon got the answer to the question at the tip of their tongues when the sound was followed by the tired groan of grinding stone and a rising cloud of dust. The walls began closing in on them.

“Um, Yunho?” Yeosang questioned, backing up against the wall behind them, pressing his palms to the brick. 

“It’s not me,” Yunho assured. 

Mingi threw his weight against the wall on their right, widening his stance to try to slow it down. Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Yunho rose to do the same. San felt the heated surface push him forward from behind. He, Yeosang, and Wooyoung turned around to try to hold the left wall off.

“What the hell?” Mingi hissed, exasperated.

Soon, they were all flattening themselves as much as they could against the left wall, both ends of the alley plugged with people, Yunho’s shadow nowhere to be found. With only about a few inches between them and the wall, it was Yeosang who gave a frustrated shout and kicked it.

A brick slid out, muted light shining through the hole.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung breathed.

By now, they could only slide their arms up in front of their chests to keep from being crushed. San pushed his forearms to the bricks, feeling them protest before eventually sliding out. Little by little the wall collapsed like it was nothing more than loosely stacked building blocks, revealing a wide expanse of rolling green hills washed in the soft grey-blue of a cloudless sky.

Everything was still, like a lonely landscape painting. In the distance stood a small farmhouse with a run-down barn beside it. The dingy white paint chipped and peeled away from the wood siding. The shudders on the house’s windows barely clung to their hinges, as if it would take little more than a breeze to rip them away. 

Everyone looked at each other, a bit skeptical of how quiet the scene was. The lack of movement in the air did nothing but heighten the anxiety and adrenaline zipping up their sensitive nerves. From almost drowning, dodging a rockslide, jumping into a bottomless pit to being tied up and gagged, and nearly being sandwiched between walls, the crew couldn’t be blamed for being on edge. 

There was no guessing whose shadowscape this was, but every member seemed hesitant to uncover what could have hurt the youngest. No matter how much Jongho protested and insisted he was capable of protecting himself, the older members still harbored a soft spot for him. He was strong, good-natured, reliable; nobody knew if they were ready to see him in the weakened state these shadowscapes so easily reduced each of them to. 

Yeosang stepped forward first. After walking a few paces ahead of the group, he stopped, looked at them over his shoulder. “Come on, he needs us,” he said. 

It was like breathing life into each of them the way their shoulders rolled back and their heads lifted at the words. They trekked up the hill to the house, across the porch and through the door. 

A damp, sweet smell, reminiscent of old books, rain, and mint leaves, pervaded the air. The entrance led straight into the living room. All of the furniture was draped in gauzy, ivory fabric so thin it could be mistaken for spider webs if you blurred your vision. The windows were covered by thick, stiff lace curtains that blocked even the meager bits of light that tried to drip through, washing the space in dusky indigos. 

The crew moved in a single file down the hall, slowly, quietly, as if scared to disturb the precarious peace. There was a small bedroom on the right with nothing in it but a bed in a wooden frame, covered by a tatty knitted blanket. The next bedroom was furnished much the same, save for the bed being large enough for two and a worn wooden chair beside it. 

At the very end of the hall was a room whose door sat slightly ajar. Hongjoong hesitated before pushing it open. One by one each member entered the room. 

Jongho kneeled at the side of the bed, head bowed, eyes closed. His shadow stood on the other side, mirroring his head and eyes. Two bodies, an elderly man and woman, lied in the bed, covered in the same gossamer material as the furniture. 

Again, no one made any sudden movements or said anything. The hush of the silence and almost divine sanctity of the space caused everyone to lower their heads and pay their respects. 

“I couldn’t watch them die,” Jongho began after a few moments, “the people who raised me.”

They raised their heads but all they could see was Jongho’s back. Each one shifted from foot to foot, troubled by the youngest’s placid tone.

“I couldn’t watch them die, so I left before I had to. I made sure they were comfortable, but I- I left when I knew they only had a few more days.” His voice caught and it was like an invisible wall stopped them from rushing toward him. Instead, they stayed where they were and let Jongho continue. 

“After watching my parents go, I couldn’t do it again.” He dropped his head to the bed, exhaled a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than they could see. When his body racked with a sob, Mingi was the first to surge forward and wrap the boy in his arms. Everyone followed, caging him in a mess of limbs as if to protect him from the world, no matter how impractical a wish it was. 

Jongho shook with silent cries, ever the paragon of strength. Like a tree in a storm, he would bend, maybe lose a branch or two, but never fall. 

A low hissing sound made them raise their heads and turn their teary eyes back toward the bed. Jongho caught one last glimpse of his grandparents before they and the bed dissolved into sand. His shadow disappeared along with them.

Jongho blinked his wide eyes at the small golden hill. 

“Is…that it?” Wooyoung muttered.

They all looked around. The house remained stagnant.

“Nothing’s happening,” Mingi stated, the panic already draining the color from his face. 

Hongjoong stood, went over to the window by the bed. When he slid the curtain away, the sky was the same dusty blue as it had been before. He looked back to the crew, mouth parted with all the assurances he wished to say but couldn’t bring himself to. 

“How are we supposed to get out of here?” San asked. 

“The witches weren’t really specific about that part,” Hongjoong admitted.

“They weren’t really specific about any of it,” Seonghwa added under his breath.

Hongjoong sighed, shoulders slumping as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He paced back and forth in the small space, while the crew sat and stewed in their own fears, anxieties, and possible escape strategies.

Jongho stood, dusting the dirt from his knees. “Should we try to find another mirror?” 

One nod from the captain and the crew set to work searching the house top to bottom for a mirror that would hopefully get them back to the real world. San went back to the living room with Wooyoung, while Seonghwa and Hongjoong took the parents’ bedroom, Jongho took his own bedroom, Yeosang took the bathroom, and Yunho and Mingi took the kitchen.

San opened an armoire that revealed several sets of porcelain tea cups painted with thin flourishes and tiny flowers. Wooyoung tiptoed around the furniture, dropping to his knees to check under the coffee table. All of the picture frames that hung askew on the walls were empty; the flowers on the end tables hung their dry, shriveled heads. 

The house felt abnormally hollow, possibly due to the manipulation of the shadowscape. It seemed more like an exhibit, set up, like no one had actually lived there. San ignored the sweat that broke out on the back of his neck as his and Wooyoung’s eyes met. 

“Jongho, are there seriously no mirrors in this house?” Mingi shouted from the kitchen over the slamming of cabinets.

Jongho popped out of his bedroom, striding down the hall. “Yes, no- I mean, there  _ were  _ mirrors from what I remember, but that was in the real world. What if…” he trailed off, not wanting to voice what they were all thinking.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa stepped out of the parents’ bedroom. “Nothing,” Seonghwa reported.

Yunho and Mingi joined them in the living room. “Nothing in the kitchen either,” Yunho said.

San’s heart picked up its erratic pace. No matter how much he tried to suppress it, the words  _ seven years  _ rang in his ears. There was nothing outside of the house but green fields that went on forever. If there were no mirrors in the house, there were surely none in the barn. He felt like he was about to get crushed between two walls all over again.

Yeosang entered and everyone pinned him with desperate gazes. He simply shook his head. 

“Not even the bathroom?” Wooyoung exclaimed. He marched toward it as if to check for himself. Yeosang stopped him, stepping in his path, placing his hands on his shoulders with a pleading look.

It was too late. San was already stepping past him, his terrified feet unwilling to believe they were stuck here. He vaguely registered someone calling his name, but he paid them no mind. Stumbling into the bathroom, he scoured the walls only to find them butter yellow and empty. The only piece of furniture in the cramped space was a freestanding bathtub. 

San blinked, the scattered specks of an idea starting to form. He rushed back to the living room. “Jongho,” he cried.

The youngest jumped, startled by San’s sudden frenzy.

“Do you have a well or something?”

“There should be a water pump out back.” Jongho raised a suspicious but curious brow. “Why?”

Instead of answering his question, San hurried to the kitchen, mumbling, “Buckets. We need buckets.” As he located a couple tin buckets next to the back door in the kitchen, he heard the footsteps of the crew behind him.

“Sannie, what are you doing?” Wooyoung called.

San finally turned around to seven pairs of watchful, incredulous eyes. “Water,” he said, breathless. “It’s how I entered Seonghwa’s shadowscape.”

“Yeah, but how does that help us get out of the mirror itself?” Hongjoong questioned.

“It may not be a mirror exactly but it’s reflective like one.”

Everyone’s eyes widened as they followed San’s train of thought. Still, nobody moved.

“We have to at least try,” San said, turning and grabbing both buckets. He didn’t wait for them, before swinging the door open and going to the water pump. He set the first bucket beneath the spout, lifted and pushed down the lever, until it squeaked and groaned. To his relieved surprise, cold water flushed from the spout. 

San worked feverishly, pumping the lever over and over again until the water sloshed over the edge. Setting it to the side, he replaced it with the other bucket and worked the pump until his shoulders burned. Once that was filled, he bent to take the buckets but a hand beat him to it. 

Jongho offered a small smile and passed the pale of water to Wooyoung, who passed it to Yeosang and so on and so forth until Hongjoong ran it into the house and presumably dumped it into the bathtub. 

San pumped, filled the buckets as they returned, wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Eventually, Jongho traded places with him. The crew passed the buckets back and forth until Hongjoong popped out of the door, announcing the tub had been filled.

Everyone returned to the bathroom, quiet, nerves buzzing. San shook his hands out, wrung his fingers together as he stared at the still surface of the water in the white tub. He hoped, prayed,  _ begged _ whatever higher power that ruled this world that this would lead them home. 

Just as San was about to volunteer to get in, Yunho crouched beside the bathtub and stuck his hand in. When he pulled his hand out, it was dry. 

Wooyoung clapped San on the shoulder with a cheerful shout. San could only exhale a nervous laugh, still dazed. 

“Jongho should go first,” Hongjoong suggested, even though his tone wasn’t the least bit suggestive.

The youngest turned to object, but one look from Hongjoong and Seonghwa made him swallow his protests. His mouth twisted, as he raised one foot then put it back down. His hands balled into fists at his sides. “I have to get in fully clothed?”   
  


“Would you rather strip naked in front of all of us?” Yeosang challenged.

Jongho glared at him but the tips of his ears flushed a deep scarlet.

“Aww, Jongie’s shy,” Wooyoung cooed.

Jongho’s sharp gaze cut to Wooyoung. Instead of saying anything more, he knelt down to remove his boots and socks. 

“Oh my god,” Yeosang said, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up. I wanna get out of here, but I’m not a fucking psycho.”

“You won’t even—”

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa interrupted, fed up. “Jongho, get in the damn tub.”

With no more hesitation, Jongho swung one leg over the edge and into the water, a white-knucled grip on the rim. He looked at the crew, fear shining in his wide eyes. “I better see you all on the other side of this.”

“We’re right behind you,” Hongjoong said. 

Jongho gave a curt nod, then swung his other leg into the water and sunk below the surface. 

They all gathered around the bathtub, staring into the water. After the initial waves, the water stilled quickly as if nothing but a drop had incited the gentle ripples. Stranger still, they could clearly see the bottom, and Jongho was nowhere to be found. 

“I’ll go next,” Yunho announced.

“Wait,” Mingi said, snatching his wrist. “Can we…go together?” he muttered with his head down.

Yunho’s face melted from surprise into soft fondness. He removed his wrist from Mingi’s nervous grip and threaded their fingers together. Slowly, the pair dangled their long legs into the water. Yunho counted to three, then they both slid in, some of the water sloshing over the sides and onto the floor.

Yeosang stepped up next. Wasting no time at all, he squeezed his eyes closed and dropped into the water. 

Wooyoung turned to San, brows dipped in poorly hidden worry. “Sannie?” Like second nature his hand found San’s. 

“I’ll be in right after,” San promised, resting his other hand on the back of Wooyoung’s head, drawing him close to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“You better,” he said. He pressed his fist to San’s chest, spread his hand out over his heart. After an inhale and exhale, they separated; Wooyoung climbed in and sunk into the water. 

San stepped over to the tub, drew his hands across the cool porcelain. He took a deep breath, hoping this would be the last time he’d have to submerge himself underwater. He figured, at least this time he was prepared. 

A loud crash disrupted the fragile silence.

Whipping around, he met the alarmed eyes of the captain and Seonghwa. The stomp of boots echoed down the hall. San swallowed, stepping closer to the pair.

The steps sped up, rising in volume all too quickly as they got closer. Hongjoong’s shadow barreled through the doorway with its cutlass raised. San didn’t think as he pushed Hongjoong out of the way, crashing against the wall. 

A sharp, burning sensation spread like wildfire along his neck and blurred the edges of his vision. The room spun. He stumbled, barely feeling the grip around his waist. Shouting. There was shouting, but it was too watery to make out what was being said. 

The arms around his waist tightened and everything jolted to the side. The floor felt like it tilted on its axis until the backs of his knees hit something and he realized it was him who was tilted. Tilting. Drowning. Again.

San hurtled, until his stomach felt full of emptiness and the urge to vomit competed with his lightheaded dizziness. He collided with a floor and there were voices—too many, too loud. The pain, the noise, the enclosing dark, everything was too much. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t…

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


-

San blinked until his vision focused. It was difficult to make out anything in the low light. From the corner of his eye he could see shadows being tossed across the wall on his right by candlelight. He tried to look around, but when he moved his head, a searing sting shot up the side of his neck.

“Hey, hey careful,” came a voice from his left. “Slowly,” prompted the voice and San recognized its sweet chime.

San took his time turning his head, stopping every moment or so when the pain got to be too much. He winced once he settled his cheek against the pillow, shifting his body a bit so he didn’t strain himself. 

Wooyoung stared at him, face relieved but haggard. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, his usually full cheeks sallow. His short silver strands, devoid of their usual lustre, stuck up at odd angles.

San opened his mouth to speak, but all that escaped from his throat was a shredded weeze. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Wooyoung whispered, shaking his head.

But it wasn’t okay. San had so many questions. Did they make it out? Where were they now? Where were the others? Were Hongjoong and Seonghwa able to escape? He needed answers but his body was so weighed down with a dull, throbbing ache and exhaustion it felt as if he had sunken into the bed. He tried to convey all of this through his eyes, but Wooyoung seemed distracted.

Their eyes were locked, but Wooyoung’s mind was somewhere else entirely. After a few moments full of silence, his mouth parted. He chewed his bottom lip, then went to speak again. “I- you—” Wooyoung dropped his head.

San could do nothing but watch as the beginnings of a sob shook Wooyoung’s shoulders.

Wooyoung looked up again, lip trembling, eyes glassy as tears spilled from them. “There was so much blood. We didn’t know if-  _ I _ didn’t know if- I was  _ scared _ ,” he admitted. He wiped at his face with the heels of his palms, dragging the skin. “I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m glad you’re okay. I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

San swallowed the questions he wasn’t able to ask, realizing how on edge Wooyoung must’ve been while he was out. He felt a dampness on his cheek. His chest clenched around the need to have the other in his arms, to press his cheek to his heart and let him know he was most certainly alive and not going anywhere. 

Instead, he looked around as much as he could without moving his head to get an idea of where exactly they were.

Wooyoung must’ve noticed, because he filled him in. “We’re back in the witches’ cottage.” He laughed, a laugh still thinned out by tears. “This place really is huge. Jiu said it’d be best if you had a proper bed to rest in, so she gave up hers.”

San smiled, grateful, suspecting he had much more to thank the witch for than just a bed. He flexed his fingers in the soft, feather-stuffed blanket, then got an idea. Catching Wooyoung’s gaze, he held up four fingers on each hand and schooled his expression into one of questioning. His heart pounded as he prayed the other would understand.

Wooyoung’s brows knit together, confused, wrinkling the skin between them.

San grunted then held up two fingers.

“Oh! They’re fine. Everyone’s fine. Hongjoong had a few cuts, but nowhere near as bad as that time in South Vine.”

San raised a puzzled brow.

Wooyoung waved his hand, some levity returning to him. “Long story. Anyways, Seonghwa’s forcing him to rest.” 

The words hung in the air, not burdened but floating cautiously.  _ We made it? Everything’s fine? _

Even as San thought those unsteady words, he knew that  _ everyone  _ being fine was more than enough to ease his mind. They had faced their shadows, that much was certain. They were all alive and the mirror had allowed them to pass through and return to their world. Surely, that meant things would be okay. Well, as okay as they can be as they took the time to heal all of the wounds they couldn’t see.

It was enough. 

San looked at the boy he loved sitting at his bedside, thought of the crew who’d become the most unlikely family, and knew, for the first, that it was enough and, more importantly, that he was enough too.

  
~ _ Fin~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you endlessly for being patient. I have been in the process of relocating and life is crazy messy at the moment. This was supposed to be two chapters, but seeing as you had to wait this long I might as well give you everything. That said, I did want to include a short little epilogue of some sort, but time is hard to come by, so maybe at some point in the future. I hope this is enough for now and that the ending lived up to your expectations.
> 
> I appreciate all of the support and wonderful comments. I really enjoyed writing this story and was surprised at times at where it took me. When I hopped into this, I struggled writing from San's perspective, but it really ended up being for the best. I hope I was able to show many sides as I feel like his character can sometimes get pigeon-holed in fics. Anyways, I won't ramble anymore. I can't believe we're really at the end. I hope you had a good time. Let me know what you think or ask questions with comments. :)
> 
> As for the future, I'm not sure that I'll be able to do something longform and plot-heavy like this again. I only had the time because of summer vacation. However, I'll likely post the occasional fun one-shot here and there because I love these boys too much and it's also a good source of comfort and a way to destress for me and I hope reading my stuff can do the same for you.
> 
> Thanks again and I'll see you around. ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, finally! The first chapter of what I originally started this account for. I'm super nervous but excited to be sharing something I've been working on for months now. I was going to wait until I finished it before posting chapter by chapter but I have enough done that I should have a good amount of time to complete the rest. 
> 
> Anyways, I'll post a new chapter every Friday, so keep an eye out ;) Leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed.
> 
> Twitter: @angeltiny13


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